


10 Bitter Years, I Will Drown In The Fear

by frenchrevolutionary



Series: Kill All Your Friends [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 95,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchrevolutionary/pseuds/frenchrevolutionary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Estelle James, one half British one half New Jerseyite, moved from her once beloved New Jersey to her mother's native Saddleworth, Greater Manchester, England. After 10 years of Manchester "bliss," she moves back to Jersey. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of some terrible story I wrote when I was 16. The original story was fanfic. The original characters will be obvious but some names have been changed because I want to have a serious story! (lolololol) If you see any errors, hiccups, or typos, please let me know!

A little house sits in a village, Saddleworth, on the outskirts of Manchester, the city, in Greater Manchester. The house is more like a manor but for the sake of not seeming pretentious or overly posh, a little house will be what we call this domicile. In this little house lives a family, the James family. A normal family, the James family consisted of a father, mother, older son and younger daughter. There were also grandparents, aunts, uncles, assistants, maids, and the occasional pet rabbit. Richard A. James married Marie C. Abernathy in the late 1970s and soon had their first child. Oliver A. James was born the fifth of August 1980. Their second child, a girl, was born the twenty-third of April 1982. Estelle Marie James was not the problem child Oliver turned out to be. She, perhaps, flirted too much and got attached to people too quickly, causing much heartbreak, while Oliver flirted too easily and got involved with terrible, awful knobheads who always used him for his name and his money.  
Both children got an education, graduating from Uni. Both children went on to do fuck all with their degrees and continued to live off of their parent’s wealth.  
Their parents work respectable, hard jobs to provide for their family. Richard is a “media producer,” often switching which fingers he has in which pies. Marie is public relations rep with the reputation of, what some would call, heartless.  
No doubt, these parents did not see their children very often. In fact, I can attest to that.  
My parents were, in fact, terrible parents.  
I say were because I no longer want anything to do with them. Oliver gets his own flat in the city so he can dope himself up every night, making “connections” while getting unbelievably high and ruining himself for any attempt at a future. I live at home until I’m in my mid-twenties, not doing a questionable thing AT ALL, and I get treated like I am some babe still running around in nappies. 

As I stare back at myself in my bathroom mirror, I cannot ignore the puffy bags under my eyes. My entire face looks a bit swollen. How I’m able to see I look swollen past my chubby cheeks and small second chin is a little miracle. If you spend the entire night crying, you could expect to look much worse. I am incredibly surprised I don’t have more smudged makeup on my face or a worse headache. The realization that my parents see me as more of a money drain and less of a child has given me the clarity I needed to fully hate them. Not only did they decide, with absolutely NO provocation mind you, to kick me out of my side of the house but to send me off to New Jersey.  
My father is originally from Newark, New Jersey, where his mother, my grandmother Jemma, currently lives. He met my mother while working with his former production team. I really could care less about their past, honestly. They’re both prats. 

“Estelle, we think it would be for the best if you left the house for a while.”  
“What, like popping to town? Was plannin’ on it this weeke-“  
“No, sweetheart. I think what your mother is trying to say is that we think you should…leave…uh…” I remember him fidgeting with his ring like it was the bloody ring to rule them all. “We think you should get out of the house.”  
“You’re kicking me out?”  
“No, sweets. We think it would be best for you if you left for a bit, got away from things here.” My mother sat as straight as she could on the stool she sat on in the kitchen. I remember her eyes burring holes through me like I was her next meal.  
“What things here? I never leave the house, ‘cept when Oscar decides he wants to stop being an arse. I…” I hardly wanted to mention his company.  
“We want you to go stay with your grandmother for a while.”  
“…My...Gran?” Gran was the term Oliver and I used for my mother’s mother. She was unbearably sweet and very much so into making us jumpers for Christmas, even though we are in our twenties. She lives hardly an hour away from our little house.  
“No, your other grandmother.” My grandmother Jemma, who preferred to be called Jemma, was a free type. Her religion changed as often as I changed shoe obsessions (If I’m being honest, that’s usually once a week). She has refused to wear pants for the past ten years and would always, always, always rather be outside. She is elegant, naturally beautiful and smells of lavender and pine. Not really the type for Newark but she makes due, I suppose.  
“You are kicking me out to go live in Jersey.” My expression was as flat as I could make it.  
“She…she needs someone.” Just like my father to push his responsibilities on to other people.  
“You are her son. You would much rather send your daughter to go and live with your mother instead of going to visit? Have tea?” As I tried to calm my breathing down, I noticed the glare my mother gave to my father. What did that mean?  
“You have been cooped up in this house for ages, love. You were happier when you were in Uni…being around people. To be quite honest, you were the happiest when we lived in New Jersey.” While my mother did have a valid point or two, I do not handle change well. Never have, never will, I’m afraid. As soon as I start to see her point of view…  
“Plus, we’re leaving the house by January tenth. We don’t want to keep more help than necessary while we are gone.” So, me being here while they are gone means paying someone to keep one bloody room clean? I can do it myself! Instead of arguing with them, I opted for the get up and walk away method of dealing with confrontation. That, of course, does not mean that I did not yell and scream and throw things in my bedroom. Obviously, I enjoy dramatics when I can get away with them.

The reflection in the mirror looks a little sad now, after replaying the conversation in my head. 

“Stay positive,” I mumble to myself. It seemed to work out okay because I have no obvious signs of an impending headache and I can coerce them into buying me unnecessary things for Christmas.

Kicking me out was a beautiful way to start off the holiday season.


	2. Chapter 2

This is not the bedroom I want to be sitting in right now.  
This is not the company that I would like to be keeping.  
I would also like to point out that this room smells a bit too much like cologne covering up the smell of cigarette smoke.  
“It’s not like I don’t make enough to support the both of us, Stell.” I groan, hating when he calls me that. The way it rolls off of his tongue…it makes the skin crawl. His eyes stare into mine and I can’t help but feel terrible about what I’m doing. “You know shooting is going to start next week for the following film in the series. I’ll have loads of-“  
“It’s not about the money, sweetheart.” His hands gripped mine tighter.  
“What is it then? Why even leave? We’re happy, right?” My eyes began to focus less on just his eyes but more on his face. This boy was cute, but just that…a boy. He was five years younger than me but captured my attention when we met. My father brought me to a soundstage a year or so back. He was feeling like we needed more father-daughter time; filling my bank account wasn’t enough for him anymore, I suppose. The director introduced the film crew and cast to the writing and production teams, those that were far less seen than others. You could call them the big-wigs. Oscar, which I always thought was a very funny name for him, walked right up to my father and I, his cheeky little eighteen-year-old face beaming. I remember him speaking to my father, saying “ello,” like a prat then immediately asking what my name was. For the remainder of the day, he spent every second that he could with me. He’s been my puppydog ever since.  
“My grandmother is dying.” I say then, remembering the conversation I’m in. His eyes went from pleading to dull, realization. What I said wasn’t a complete lie but it might not be quite true.  
“The American one?” I raise an eyebrow at him. I just told him that I’m moving to New Jersey sometime near the beginning of next month. I suppose his brain is going to quickly to slow down and let his mouth say the right things. Nodding at him, after a minute, he frowns. “I’m sorry, love.”  
“It’s alright. Well, it’s not alright, but there isn’t much we can do about it.” I didn’t want to share the fact that my parents were kicking me out. I didn’t want to tell him that I wasn’t comfortable with having one, a boyfriend who was so much younger than me and two, the possibility that we could be seen out together, even though we already have I’m sure, and the media have a shit fit. Famous and me don’t mix, really. “My parents want me to go stay with her for the time being so she has some support. There isn’t anyone else in Jersey for her.” That part wasn’t a total lie seeing as how that is what my parents told me while they were kicking me out.  
“Why not send Oliver?” I try my best not to scoff. Oliver, my twenty-seven year old brother, has a drug problem. He also likes girls far too much for my mother’s taste. She hasn’t seen the boys he has been with. While I have no doubt he could find his poison in Newark, I highly doubt he would enjoy the company as much.  
“If you separate Oliver from our money or Manchester, he’d die. I think he’d actually fall on the ground and spasm a bit too hard. Plus, if he went to Jersey, I think he’d get into a few fights over my friend, Ezra.” I rolled my eyes; he smirked a bit but with a sad expression still on his face. I try my best to not have a mental flashback of the time my best friend, Ezmarelda Reese, visited me at my little house. Oh, what a time that was, indeed.  
“I can’t do long distance…” I try to keep my eyes from widening. Surprised by this, him not taking this as breaking up, I frown. Might as well play up what he’s offering me.  
“I don’t think I can either, love. I need physical affection far too much to attempt it.” He nods, knowing that quite well.  
“Is…Is this it, then?” My gaze shifts to the floor. His room was a bit dark. The sun had just gone down and his lamp was not bright enough for my liking.  
“We don’t have any other choice, it seems.” We were silent for a solid, awkward minute. His grip tightens on my hands once again.  
“Stay. Stay with me. You haven’t seen your gran in years. Like sh-“  
“Are you seriously asking me to ignore the needs of my grandmother so you can get your bloody knob off?” Blood rushed to my face and chest. Standing up, I yank my hands from his. Turning on my heel, I quickly gather up my things in my arms.  
“Wait, you misunderstand!” As I attempt to storm out of the room, I hear him fumbling behind me. I turn my head just slightly, stopping in the doorway.  
“Don’t be a fuckin’ git, Oscar. Goodbye.” I rush down the stairs of the house, which was a bit too large to make a clean getaway without his family being notified of our little row. Once outside, I groan at the rain. The adrenaline pumping through my body keeps me from feeling terribly cold. Being in the city, a cab wasn’t hard to acquire. The ride home was filled with flashbacks of every uncomfortable dinner, sweet kiss and bouquet of flowers I had received from the boy.  
Fuck me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious, Oscar, in the original write of this story, was a redheaded actor from a popular Wizarding series.  
> I wanted all of the hot mens when I was sixteen.


	3. Chapter 3

I had talked my parents into getting me a flight the week of Christmas. While the desire to be around Oli and my gran for Christmas was there, I would much rather be around Jemma whom I have not seen in over 4 years in person. The last time I was in New Jersey was over ten years ago. Whenever I see anyone, they come to me because I have the money to get them to me. The fear of leaving my house kept me inside of it. Outside the door of my bedroom was a gross, fairly smelly world I had no interest in. Luckily, I’m moving to a place with a different kind of smell.  
Fantastic.  
I also talk my parents into a new luggage set and having them ship me the things I packed away. I have no desire to lug my entire wardrobe onto a plane with me. 

Fun fact about Estelle #1: I loathe airports and travel in general.  
The entire flight experience was saved, and just only, by the little, old man I sat next to on the plane. He talked to me about his late wife. I thought I’d cry. 

Once I get off of the plane, I get my luggage quickly enough, which is a huge surprise to me. When I last talked to Jemma, I told her that I would get to her house on my own, which she was okay with. I hope things are the same, especially her address.

I manage to get a free cab. They do hang around airports if they need a fare, though. I give him the address and ask him if he could cut corners or avoid traffic. A bigger tip is always a possibility. The cabbie gives me a grin.  
“Where ya from, sweetheart?” Relaxing in my seat, I stare out of the window. My sunglasses dull the bright sun against the snow that must have fallen the night before. Memories flood my thoughts. I don’t hear myself answer him.  
“Manchester, England.”   
“Oh, sounds like it. You, ehh…like that, whatcha call it…football?” I ignore the images of me riding in the car with my dad through this section of the city and focus on the conversation.  
“I’ve caught a match or two, yeah.” My eyes glance up at the rearview, catching his smirk.   
“What cha in town for?”   
“A wedding and plenty else.” The conversation ends then, or dies off. He rambles some but once I stop responding, he gets the hint. Once we pull into a part of town I recognize, I immediately filter through my mental backlog of memories, names, faces and best places to eat. The restaurants seem to all be closed down now, though. A shame.   
We drive past the road Ezra used to live on. I want to call her immediately but resist the urge. Having already deciding to surprise her on her wedding day, Jemma’s number on her caller ID might give me away. An email would have to do until then. I did call her the night they kicked me out, so she at least knows that bit.  
The taxi stops in front of the house I knew so well as a child. I lived here. Jemma moved in after we moved out. She left our bedrooms alone, Oli’s and mine, in case we came back. That’s why we left our furniture, too. She is never home anyway. She’s either protesting pharmaceutical testing or at her new ‘favorite’ co-op.  
The cabbie helps me get my stuff out of the trunk of the car, offering me a wink before getting back in and driving off. Older American men always creep me out. Never fails.  
The front door of the house bangs open loudly, making me jump.  
“My favorite baby has returned!” Jemma yells, throwing up her arms. Her smile is the brightest thing I’ve seen in days. As she quickly bounces down the small set of stairs to the sidewalk, I kick my bags closer to the house. I try my best to smile at her but with my headspace being as negative as it is, it probably looks like a mangled expression.  
“Hello, grandmother dear!” Our eyes lock and she scowls at me.  
“You know better.” She manages to get me to chuckle.  
“Of course,” I mumble as she wraps her long arms around me. Even her hugs are elegant. She squeezes me so hard, I think I might have peed a little.   
“There’s someone you must meet!” Her excitement made her pitch all wonky. I didn’t realize I had closed my eyes but when I open them, I see I man standing in the doorway of the house.  
“Yeah?” As she begins to pull away, the man slowly comes down the stairs. He looks like a rugged man; his face is all tan skin and wrinkles, laugh wrinkles. He looks like he’s worked outside his entire life. His salt and pepper hair is set into an obviously hairspray saturated well-coiffed pompadour. When her hands leave my body, they go straight to his.  
“Yes. Estelle, this is Edward. He’s my partner.” I catch the eyes of Edward then. He smiles a half smile, offering me a nod.   
“A pleasure.”  
“Pleasure’s all mine,” he offers me a hand to shake. His voice has a bit of a twang to it but I pay no mind. My accent will be terribly noticeable here so I can’t point out his. My smile is fake but pleasant.   
“He’ll help you get your stuff to your room then we’re off.” My head whips to gawk at her.   
“So quickly? I just got in!” She smirks.  
“I haven’t been home much, doll. He reminded me that I needed to have food in the house for the other person who’s going to be staying here. We’re going to go to the grocery store then,” she continues speaking while she grabs my carry on bag from the ground beside me, “come back and cook a delicious, organic meal for my grandbaby.” She places her free hand on my shoulder, kissing my cheek. My cheeks flush.  
“Okay then.” Edward already has my two large bags up the stairs and through the threshold.   
“Plus, I know how you like to have some debrief time to yourself.” She puts the bag on her shoulder, wrapping an arm around my lower back. As she guides me up the stairs and into the house, she continues to say things to me quietly. I unintentionally block most out of it out, however.   
Jetlag, you are a cruel, cruel mistress. 

The next few days consist of me getting comfortable in my surroundings, avoiding any public places where Ezra would be (which is pretty much everywhere would I go because she hates the things I love). I also avoid talking as much as possible. My American accent is a bit rusty.   
Christmas passes with barely a blink of an eye. My belongings begin to show up in scattered bunches here or there.  
Jemma pulls me to go dress shopping for the wedding. She informs me that Ezra has asked her to take pictures of the event so Jemma knows pretty much all of the details. 

Thursday, two days before the wedding, Jemma’s house gets an unexpected visitor while Jemma was out. There was a knock on the front door. Without thinking to look who it was, I opened the door with confidence. My beautiful, smart-arsed best friend, Ezmarelda Reese, stood there, dressed in a two layers of jackets, tight dark jeans and those hideous fat Vans. A small Christmas looking bag hung in her fingers. A present for Jemma, I suppose. Maybe even a ‘thank you’ for doing the wedding photos on New Years day.  
“Stella?!” Her arms that were hanging relaxed by her sides then came up to fold in front of her chest. Her face began to contort into a look of annoyance. I offered my biggest, goofiest smile.  
“Sur…prise?”  
The following evening consisted of me explaining things to Ezra, her explaining wedding things to me; she demanded I become a member of the bridal party seeing as how Geoff can’t be a bridesmaid and a groomsman. I showed her the dress Jemma and I picked out for me to wear to the wedding and she was thrilled.  
“Looks like you were already prepared to be a member of the bridal party, you goober.” She managed to get me to grin.

She decides to tell no one about me being here.   
“I’ll act surprised. You will just pop in on a day where I’m already supposed to be irrationally emotional, overcome with stress or whatever. My British savior, come to rescue me from my future husband’s antics.”   
“Since when do you use the word ‘antics’ because I don’t believe I have ever heard you utter it.”  
“Since I needed to use that word to describe you keeping me away from everyone else on my wedding day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tense changes as much as my mood in this thing.  
> Ignore it.  
> Please?


	4. Chapter 4

Edward drives us to the chapel. I had no idea Jemma would be allowed a ‘plus one’ but who am I to judge my grandmother’s choices? We pull up to the church I recognize. I’ve been here once or twice with Jemma when she was going through one of her many spiritual life crises. It’s a little white wood and brick building with a simple white cross on the top. I see the metal building where the reception must be; it is a decent size for an invitation list of 25 to 30 people. Jemma and I get out before Edward parks.   
“I’m going to go in the back way. There are a few shots Ez wanted me to get outside before starting with her or Frank.” I nod and she slings her camera bag over her shoulder.   
Starting to walk up to the church from the sidewalk, a guy standing on the main stairs scares me. He wasn’t standing there when I last looked at the stairs up to the main doors. He’s pale with short-cropped black hair and sunglasses…quite average for an American boy. He takes a drag on a cigarette as I walk closer to him. Seeing him smoke makes me want to bum one off of him but I decide against it. The glasses he had on his face are quickly removed and placed into a pocket in the inside of his gray suit jacket. His glance makes my face flush pink. His fag is finished when I get up to him. As he turns towards me, his eyes lock on my face. I see the top part of his ear stained black. Probably dyed his hair then, yesterday, I’d assume. He eyes me up before looking back at my face. My long coat covers my dress. My shoes, which aren’t of the conventional sort, might stick out a bit too much.   
“Hi.” His greeting is tentative, throwing in a nod for good measure. I give him a smile.  
“Hello there.” He returns my smile. His eyes narrow a bit, giving my face a hard look. “Isle/Reese wedding, yeah?” He nods. I feel a bit rude, keeping my sunglasses on but ignore it. “Oh, good. Could you tell me where…uh…Ezmarelda is?” I recognized his face then but wasn’t sure what he called Ezra. An odd look forms on his face.  
“Who are you?”   
“I’m Estelle James…the maid of honor.” When my name falls out of my lips, he grins, recognizing it. A fake look of hurt replaces the grin.  
“No, you aren’t the maid of honor…because I am.” I chuckle a little.  
“You must be Geoff then.” He winks, making me blush. Good thing it was already cold outside. He wouldn’t notice my face now glowing red.   
“I’ll take her to ya, Stella. Follow me.”   
He holds one of the double doors open for me into the church. The little lobby had three doorways, one into the sanctuary, obviously, because those doors were open. He took me through a different door. The hallway was small but had a few doors down it. Geoff stopped in front of one door before turning around to look at me.  
“Wait…I thought you weren’t supposed to be here?”  
“Surprise?” I give him a big, beaming, slightly fake smile; he smiles back. He focuses his attention on the door. There’s laughing from behind the door. Well, not laughing, more like giggling, two different people giggling. Geoff knocks on the door.  
“Ez? There’s someone here for you.” The giggling quiets some but it’s still audible. I hear a male voice say something and then a female voice, Ezra’s, reply. A few seconds go by. No response and they continue to giggle. Geoff knocks once more. After a few more seconds, I get annoyed. Gently pushing Geoff out of the way, I stand in front of the door. I give him an apologetic look before gripping the doorknob and twisting it open.   
“Hello Lo-“ I begin to say as I swing the door open. I see two people standing in the small room. Ezra, who obviously has just pulled a robe on because she’s tying the sash and a guy who’s a little taller than her but not by much with short black hair and a lip ring. He’s got his shirt halfway on. I step into the room a little, eyeing them both. No one has made a sound or even moved. I move my hand up to my face, scratching my chin a little.  
“So…” I pause, reaching up to my sunglasses, pulling them down just enough to make eye contact with Ezra. “This is what all the fuss was about?” I pull the sunglasses off of my face as I look back over at the guy, whom I am now assuming is her husband to be, Frank Isle. Without the tint of my sunglasses, I can see the shade of his hazel eyes. His bags don’t look as dark but he does look a bit aged for a 24/25 year old. From what I know of him, he’s had as rough of a life as Ezra has had. “Eh.” I say, shrugging. I can’t stop my grin from happening when I look back at Ezra. Her expression hasn’t changed from “caught in the act” yet. Still surprised, I suppose.  
“So, you must be Stella.” Frank’s voice was much better in person than over the phone. I don’t really remember our phone conversation, however, because I was quite drunk when we had it. That whole deal about trying to set up Ezra and my brother is a long story in and of itself. I nod at Frank, moving closer to my best friend of the last several years. Her face has finally changed. She’s now smiling at me. While all eyes are fixed on me, she winks.  
“I thought you couldn’t make it.” I shrug.   
“They kicked me out. I told them that the least they could do was buy me a plane ticket for a week earlier.” She scoffs, sniffling. I tut at her. “None of that, you’ll ruin your face…even though Frank’s destroyed your lips. Must redo those.” Geoff walks into the room then, clearing his throat a little too loudly. I quickly give Ezra a giant hug, kissing her cheek as it goes by my face.  
“Hey, Frank, let’s go. Don’t want anyone else finding you in here. You guys aren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding, right?” Geoff quietly laughs at his own joke before walking out of the room. Frank moves over to us and Ezra pulls away from me. She gives Frank a quick kiss and a look, one that speaks louder than any words she could say before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. 

I look Ezra up and down, grinning. She looks beautiful. She told me about her dress the last time we talked on the phone. When she was at Jemma’s, she showed me a few pictures on her phone. Vintage lace was all she said. Her dress was vintage, all right. 80s, definitely. Long lace sleeves that spread onto her hands. The collar was high and, of course, lace. The top was form fitting until it hit her hips, then flared out into its skirt, which was silk and lace, like the bodice. Her hair was this curled mess. Jon's mom, her, uh, dead husband's mother, did her hair. This woman was more of a mother than her own would ever be. She and I bonded quickly. Although, thinking about it…I can’t remember her name for the life of me.   
Ezra now gives me a questioning look.  
“I hope you are wearing your dress under that coat. I also hope that you brought some other shoes to wear.” I smirk before undoing the buttons on my coat and throwing it over the back of a chair. My dress is a short, strapless number. The bodice was a deep plum purple color on top that faded down into black by the hem of the skirt. It was tight until my hips, and then flared out into a skirt that I made even fluffier by the 5 petticoats I had sewn into the dress. I couldn’t help but be silly with my shoes, picking out a pair of forest green 14-eye Dr. Marten’s to go along with it.   
She gags at my feet. I can’t help but laugh.  
“Aww, come on! I paid extra because these things weighed my luggage down!” She laughs then, rolling her eyes.   
I quickly do my hair and makeup before we walk out. An old woman plays the organ as we walk up.  
Geoff stands beside Frank. Frank, who looks like he might cry at any moment, looks handsome, though his hair is a bit too long for his face at the moment. Geoff looks like he could use another cigarette but pretty handsome still.   
As I walk in front of Ezra, I hear whispers.  
I keep forgetting people don’t know who I am.   
The ceremony seems to happen quickly enough. I hold her bouquet, hand her his ring and watch the memories happen. Jemma runs around and takes photos, most of which are awkward down the isle shots that I’m sure I’ll look terrible and fat in. I do manage to get a good look at the small group of people gathered here before the ceremony goes on too long. There are a few people I’ve seen in pictures Ezra’s sent me but their names are lost on me. While I look around the small crowd, a guy was looking at me. His hair is short, harshly clipped bangs plastered to his forehead. His face is thin, sunken-in cheeks, thin lips…thin everything. He is staring at my dress. I say that because his eyes are locked onto my waist. He leisurely looks up at my face. Once he realizes that I am looking back at him, his face and neck turn a shade or two red. I grin, offering him a wink. He’s cute enough, looks kind of young. I have seen his eyes before. Our eye contact eventually makes him feel uncomfortable, I assume, because he looks away, staring down at his lap. My cheeks start to turn rosy as I look away. In my venture to feel less awkward, I catch eyes with Geoff and see the same set of eyes staring back at me that were not five seconds ago.   
Those two guys must be related.   
Ezra’s told me all about Geoff, but not much about his brother, Michael. Michael, as far as I know, is younger than Geoff. Everyone sees him as a kid brother, even Ezra.  
I’m sure I’ll be introduced later on.   
“I now present to you, Mister and Misses Frank Isle! Frank, you may now kiss the bride!” The officiator booms and we all cheer. Frank and Ezra’s kiss is tasteful for public, thank god.   
“Let’s all get pissed!” I say loudly over the cheering. People give me odd looks. I need to remember the differences in cultural colloquialisms. Frank and Ezra laugh, walking down the isle hand-in-hand. Geoff and I walk down next, my arm looped through his. Over the organ player, I hear him whisper.  
“Get pissed?” I snicker, feeling more blood rush to my face.  
“British saying for…uh…drunk.” He chuckles.  
“Let’s get pissed, then.”

The reception area is simple but beautiful. A group stands on the outskirts of the small dance floor, watching the newlywed’s first dance. They’re quietly bickering with each other but their smiles are huge. Ezra glances at me and I wink at her. Jemma circles the crowd like a hawk snatching up prey. She’s gotten more pictures of the awkward expressions of people in between emotions than anything else. I really do hope Ezra isn’t paying her for this.  
While they dance, I raid the snack and drink stations. Yes, stations, because drink table sounds not anywhere near as neat as station. I grab a few baby carrots and a cup of punch. I quietly contemplate the difference in Wheat Thins and crackers.   
“Club crackers, though! No, these are tomato basil…AND CHEDDAR! She knows me so well!” Maybe now isn’t the time to talk to myself out loud. It also isn’t the time to assume that Ezra bought this one specific box of crackers just for me.  
While in the middle of a conversation with myself, someone moves in beside me; they touch my arm.   
“Oh, Estelle!” Geoff moves in a little closer. “I should introduce you to the guys.” I turn to look at his face, raising an eyebrow. I have heard all about these men, but haven’t seen their faces.  
I have a mental flashback to Saddleworth.  
I’m in my previous bedroom, on the phone with Ezra. My eyes are puffy from crying. She cheered me up. My parents had told me to get out earlier that day. It was 3 A.M.  
“Tell me about everyone.”  
“Uh…Well, you know all about Frank. Geoff is cute but too…weird. He’s in his head a lot. He’s a sweetheart, though, especially to his wife, Milly.” I liked the name Milly. I smiled.   
“I’m sure he is.”  
“There’s Ray and Robert, the quiet hermit geniuses.” She’s described them before this way and not any better than now. “Then there’s Mikey. He’s like everyone’s kid brother, and even sweeter than Geoff. He tends to be smart when necessary.”  
“How so? Is he normally a dullard?” She laughed.  
“Nah, I mean…He’s a problem solver. He also likes to lay out some really deep, philosophical crap when everyone is hammered drunk.”

Geoff is gently pulling my arm over to a small bunch of guys. They were standing around in a slight circle, cups in hands, all of them quietly laughing.   
“Dudes, someone you should meet!” They turn and look in our direction. They move, opening up their circle to us. We meld in smoothly. “Everyone, this is Estelle James.” I offer them a smile. I get small, pathetic smiles in return. “Estelle, this is Ray,” he nods to the tallest guy. His hair is a frizz factory. He nods, mumbling a hello. My hand shoots up with an awkward wave. “Robert,” Geoff says with a chipper voice. He’s a bigger guy, broad shoulders, thick frame but beautiful blue eyes. He smiles back at me. I feel my cheeks redden a little. I never could resist a blue-eyed boy. “And my kid brother, Mikey.” The eyes I caught earlier stare back at me as I look at the third guy in this weird social circle.   
“Hi.” Michael’s voice is deeper pitched than I would have imagined but I really didn’t imagine anything.  
“Hello, Michael.” I smile at him sweetly. The room’s lighting is dark but I swear his face is beet red.   
I awkwardly sip on my drink, listening to the conversation Geoff tries to start.   
“So, Stella, I’ve heard you know a few famous people.” I laugh. The funny thing about this, though, is that Geoff and these three other guys are in a band together, along with Frank. They’re quite popular, actually. People have lyrics from their songs tattooed on their body; they are that popular. Another funny thing about this is that I have never heard any of their music. Not even one song. Ezra is a roadie for them. She constantly calls me when she’s on the road with them and as far as I know, I haven’t heard any of their sets. She should avoid calling me when she is working, right?   
“Well, I guess I know you lot.” Geoff laugh-scoffs.  
“Now you do.” I raise my small plastic cup to him with a nod. He grins. “I meant other than us.”  
“Well, my father is a producer, if that helps. I’ve met a few people in my days being tossed from here or there.” He nods.  
“Ezra said something about you dating that guy from…” Mikey spoke then. My head whipped to look at him. The expression on my face probably wasn’t the most friendly.   
“Oscar Fletcher. No, we weren’t dating. He was a good mate, is all.” My face goes flat. Mikey’s eyebrows furrow with, what I am going to assume, confusion. Apparently, the Oscar cord in my brain is still a little sensitive. Useless, that. “If you’ll excuse me, boys. The carrots are calling to me.” I get a few small chuckles before turning around and walking away from them. The music has become something worth paying attention to. As I reach the table, I can’t help but sing along with the song. My carrot mission commences, putting them on a little plastic plate with one hand, still holding my drink in the other.  
“I know who I want to take me home, take me home,” I sing along with the chorus.   
“Good thing you haven’t touched the broccoli.” Startled, I look over. Michael stood next to me, same silly plastic plate in his hands as me.   
“I was planning on raiding the fruit tray next. Hope you don’t like cantaloupe. You can keep the yoghurt, though.” I look up at his face then. His smile is small, genuine…and completely attractive.  
“That’s what you do, then? Cut up?” The fruit tray becomes a distraction for my eyes so I don’t stare at him. I reach over, picking up a few pieces of melon for my plate.  
“Cut up?”  
“Yeah. Crack jokes constantly. Goof around.” My smirk is just barely a twitch of the lips. I turn to face him again.  
“Oh, I can be completely serious, Mr. Day. In fact, I can be so serious…” I pause, reaching over to his plate and taking a carrot. “It would be a downright bore.” Quickly, I pop the carrot in my mouth, crunching down on it with a wink. As I chew, I turn and walk away. 

The rest of the evening goes by with relative ease. Jemma assaults the guests and bridal party with photos. I stick around to help clean up, as does Jemma and Geoff.   
Only one thing keeps popping back into my thoughts, though.  
Michael Day’s small, shy smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DIDN'T TRY VERY HARD TO CHANGE THOSE NAMES, DID I?!!?!?
> 
> TeeHeeHee.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Non-Con**

Ezra called me the next day to tell me that Frank got her a house as a wedding present. She now lives a street over from Jemma. It’s always convenient to live within walking distance of your best friend and her husband.  
A house warming party will be happening the following weekend.  
Lovely. House parties are the worst.  
If you get too drunk, they judge you. If you don’t drink at all, they judge you. If you don’t help clean up the morning after, they bitch at your face. If you puke, they make fun of you. The worst thing is the awkward drunk making out that happens. Seeing as how it will be a house warming party for two recently married people, I see lots of drunk married making out.  
I will get to meet a few new folks, though, so that’s nice.

 

“I don’t understand why you’re worrying about an outfit to wear to my house.” Ezra quickly scans the racks we stand around, surveying a shirt or two before rolling her eyes at them, more than likely at me, however.  
“Because these are new people to me, Ezra. I don’t want to seem like a fuddydud.” She snickers, probably at how I said ‘fuddydud.’  
“It’s not a big deal, Stella. We’re going to watch a movie, have a few drinks and maybe open up presents if people bring any. I told folks not to but you know how people are with the word ‘housewarming.’” I nod, snatching a shirt off of a rack filled with mostly ugly, too small for me items. Seeing the elastic band in the middle of the shirt, I scowl. Ezra scowls along with me.  
“The elastic really does nothing for the garment.” Shaking my head, I shove the shirt back onto the rack.  
“They always hit me wrong so I usually avoid those types of shirts.” We walk and scan a little more, silently, before she hits me with a question I wasn’t expecting. “Are you worried about what Mikey will think?” I stop, throwing a hand up, palm facing out towards her. I’m sure my expression reads ‘What.’ “Don’t give me that face! I saw you flirting with him at the wedding!” She smirks at me, not because of my reaction to her question; more likely because of the red splotches forming on my face.  
“I flirt, darling. It’s what I do. You know that.”  
“As a social anxiety safety mechanism, yes, I know, but that wasn’t that type of flirting.” We move toward the racks of dresses, which were very slim given that it is January in New Jersey. I frown at the selection. “This was honest flirting.”  
“Only because he was eyeing me up when you were standing at the altar.” I grin, looking at her. Her brows furrow while she contemplates a dress. It was a terrible color for her but if she wanted to look at it, who am I to stop her?  
“You caught him staring?”  
“At my dress.”  
“You sure about that?” Her tone changes slightly, to one of either mocking or questioning, I can’t quite tell.  
“His eyes were hitting my midriff. He might have a thing for cocktail dresses or something.”  
“Or the bellies of redheads.” I scoff, running a hand through my hair. A few strands get caught on my thumbnail. “Well, you can deny it but I think he was honestly flirting.” I move a few racks down, staring at a cart filled with jeans that were obviously too small for me.  
“Please, don’t set me up with one of your husband’s bandmates.” She moves beside me, bumping me with her hip.  
“Who said I was? I was just commenting on an obser-“  
“No, you see, the last time you tried to hook me up with someone, you remember?” I turn to her, readjusting my handbag on my shoulder. Ezra looks over at my face from the pile of pants.  
“Of course I do, but you were 16.”  
“Your mates are the same type now that they were then, Ez. They’re just older now, taller…and with more of a drinking problem.” Her laugh was quiet as she shook her head. “I’m going to have friends first, is all. I don’t want to be a big ‘I love American boys’ whore.”  
“What?” She laughs louder this time; I smile.  
“I mean…they’re cuter, anyway. Have you seen Mark Wahlberg?”

 

The day of the party arrives. I quickly bag the gift I got for Frank and Ezra (a cheeky set of child sized kitchen utensils because they’re small people) and the card I picked out. I hope it’s not odd to put $100 dollars in a card for your friend’s housewarming.  
I dress modestly, with a full face of make up (including my signature red lips). The dress I wore was a fitted, knee length little black dress that had three-quarter sleeves.  
My hair was fussed with, then given up on, then fussed with more. For over an hour, I mess with my rat nest of ginger hair until it looks somewhat presentable. To be honest, I would have fussed with it longer but I have 10 minutes to walk over to their house before the party is scheduled to start. 

As I walk up to their house, a car or two sits in the drive way and a car is parked in front of the house. I wasn’t told how many people were actually invited so more than 5 people will be a surprise to me.  
The doorbell works, which I wasn’t expecting. It pulls a grin from my lips.  
“Estelle!” Ezra exclaims when she yanks the door open. I offer my most pleasant smile.  
“Evening, Ezmarelda!” I lean in, kissing both of her cheeks in my usual greeting.  
“Come in, come in! Put that bag down with the others. I’ll yell at you for it later.” We share a smile as I walk in.  
This living room screams Ezra.  
Her favorite colors and patterns are everywhere. There are knick-knacks, art (some of which is mine, but most of it is Frank’s), and pillows. There’s even a creepy cat statue. The living room is set up like any other normal living room that includes a stairwell. Large television on one side of the room, framed by bookshelves and paintings, sectional (couch, chase and recliner) in the middle of the room and a coffee table to break all of it up. There’s a small alcove when you first walk in along with a walkway formed by furniture to the kitchen and stairwell.  
I see a few other bags and a box or two on the coffee table, so I move and put my bag down with them. Background music is playing but it’s nothing I recognize.  
The people, however, I do recognize. Ray is standing opposite me with Frank and some younger looking woman; all three are staring at a bookshelf and talking about it. Ezra quickly walks back to the kitchen, passing Robert and a man who looks like he could be homeless. His hair hits his jaw and his facial hair is a bit too…much. It’s too much. If I could bet on it, I’d say he probably smells like piss. Laughter comes from the kitchen and someone else I recognize walks out of the kitchen. Geoff’s head turns from where he was looking behind him. His eyes land on me and he smiles.  
“Well, hello there Miss James.” He tilts his head in greeting. As he walks closer to me, anxiety washes over me like a flood. There’s no avoiding the attention now.  
“’Ello, Mister Day. All right?” He shrugs as he stops, about a metre away from me. Before, I could smell the candle sitting on the coffee table. It was some sort of fresh, crisp smell. Now, I smell the sting of booze. It seems to seep off of Geoff, crawling up my nose and making my head swim already.  
“I’m doin’ okay, how are you?” I nod, wishing I had worn a ring so I would have something to mess with. I immediately regret wearing my hair up or else I would braid it.  
“Can’t complain.” As I begin to swallow, trying to force more small talk, movement behind Geoff catches my eye. Someone else walks out of the kitchen. She’s small, petite. Her hair was a coloured mess, one half of her head shaved, the other dyed black and a burnt orange color. Her brows are dark brown, so I’m going to assume this is her natural colour. It could be whatever bottle she decided to buy that day, however. Her dress is short but sweet. The tattoos that I can see are faded, mostly, but in places that must mean something to her.  
I’m going to bet, at least 50 quid, this girl was or is obsessed with their band. I have seen their fan base online, even if I haven’t listened to their music.  
She, at least, probably loves the idea of revenge.  
Part of me, the part that is silently judging her as she walks towards me, wants to dislike her. However, the other part of me, the part that tries to keep an open mind, likes the smile she’s giving me.  
“Geoff, is that Estelle?” Geoff’s head whips around. I have to stop my hands from going out in an attempt to catch him if he falls. The nod he gives her is cute, at least. You know when you talk to a child and they give you that excited nod? It was something like that. My eyes, which were locked on the absolutely mullered, pissed drunk man in front of me, slowly shift up to the woman again. She slides in beside Geoff, wrapping an arm around his waist. I smile as he kisses the top of her head.  
“Estelle, this is my lovely wife Milly.” Milly’s face and chest flush; I grin. A song from Grease plays through my head then. Being in America always makes me want to watch musicals. Blame my terrible, awful, hippie grandmother and her love of musical theatre.  
“How do you do, Milly?” I offer my hand in a polite gesture. She takes it tentatively. Her palms are a little sweaty. My eyebrow quirks just slightly, but neither of them notice.  
“I’m great. It’s awesome to finally meet you, Estelle. I’ve heard so much about you.” I smirk, letting my hand fall.  
“Yeah, I’m pretty ace.” They stare at me silently. “Sorry, forgot about that bloody slang difference. A pleasure.” Secretly, I feel glad that they don’t know how big my ego is.  
“So! Excited to be back in Jersey?” Her voice was a little too enthusiastic for my taste. I scoff, smiling.  
“Not sure if ‘excited’ would be the word I would use, but it’s not terrible.” My shrug was far too big.  
“Stella!” Someone to my left calls my name. Frank. I hear him move from where he was, mostly because he has to worm his way around Ray and the lady. I glance sideways in his direction when he reaches us. “Hey Geoff, Mill. What’s up?” They both shrug nonchalantly. I attempt to do the same but it comes off a bit too snide. Frank nods, smiling at us.  
“Stella, what do you think of the place? Think I got it right?” My quiet laugh pulls an even bigger smile out of Frank.  
“I do believe it screams Ezra. There might be a few hints of you here or there, I suppose.” My hand moves up to jab him on the shoulder on my last word. His laugh is quiet and wheezy. I didn’t know little men had wheezy laughs. So far, this guy who looks like an asshole is the only guy who hasn’t made me feel uncomfortable.  
“Good! That’s what I was going for. She would never let me have a whole room to myself.” He winks, I smirk. Geoff and Milly laugh. I nearly forgot they were standing here. When my eyes land on them again, I can see that Milly is very obviously having a hard time holding Geoff up. Concern must show on my face because I believe Frank noticed too. “Why don’t you two sit down, enjoy a drink or something? I’m gonna take Stella in the kitchen. She’s got a thing for stainless steel.” He playfully pats Geoff on the shoulder, smiling. My eyes focus on Milly’s face. She looks just as happy-go-lucky, love drunk as ever. Not my problem.  
As she and Geoff move to the sectional, Frank and I move to the kitchen. Beside the kitchen doorway is a small table covered in records and other assorted electronics business. I see an mp3 player attached to an audio setup.  
“Oh, I put some stuff on that playlist for you. Ez kept bugging me about it. She claims you don’t like our ‘whiney’ stuff.” As we walk through the kitchen doorway, I laugh louder than I should.  
Ezra, Eliza (Her dead ex-husband’s mother who’s name I have just remembered), and Michael stand around the kitchen island. They all looked up at us when we walked in. I’m sure my laugh was a bit loud.  
“What was that about?” Ezra gives me a look, her eyebrow raised. She is probably judging my overly done face but I ignore the inner monologue that is my best friend’s voice in my head.  
“Frank said that you told him I don’t like their whiney music.” She laughs, looking back down at the tray of assorted fruits and veggies.  
“You don’t! I was being honest.” I move, going to the sink to wash my hands. Instead of other people, I enjoy being useful at parties.  
“It’s not that I don’t like what you guys play specifically.” As I lather up my hands, Ezra moves beside me, putting something in the sink. She begins rinsing it off with the spray nozzle, using up most of my water pressure.  
“What is it then?” Frank’s voice comes from the other side of the room.  
Their kitchen includes a dining room type of area; it is bigger than a breakfast nook but not as big as a separate dining room. The house, though, is not big enough to have a separate dining room so this is a combo. Lovely space. Also, Frank wasn’t just lying to get me out of an uncomfortable situation. I love stainless steel. How Frank knows about my appliance fetish, though, is lost on me. There is a sliding glass door on the wall on the other side of the room, probably out to a patio. A fire pit was mentioned in the plans, so that is where that’s happening, I assume.  
“It not the lyrics. As you well know, I am a huge horror punk fan. Give me Misfits, Screaming Dead…Hell, I’ll listen to Wednesday 13, even though he looks like a right sod.” Frank laughs, I hear a chair scrape against the floor as I rinse the suds away. “I suppose I’m just a stickler when it comes to mainstream music.” Ezra laughs loudly. I can’t help but chuckle. I snatch a rag from the counter to dry my hands off with before I turn around. Frank and Mikey both look at me with annoyed eyes. I throw the rag at Mikey’s face because Frank is too far away for me to hit him with it. “Don’t give me that! I have seen ‘Sister To Sleep’ in so many Internet headlines! How many times have you been interviewed on the radio or on telly?” Eliza shakes her head, grinning as she turns, heading to the glass doors and going outside.  
“More than I can remember.” Mikey’s voice is the loudest I’ve heard him. The pitch is different now than I recall but I still like it. When I look at him, our eyes meet.  
“See, he understands.”  
“So, you refuse to listen to our stuff, not because you don’t think you’d like it, but because you’re a fucking music snob?” Frank, now done with re-arranging chairs around the table, moves over the island. After contemplating a moment, I offer a nod of agreement. Mikey laughs then. My comedic timing could always make boys laugh. The grin on my face is only a little smug.

More partygoers arrive, bringing more gifts. People munch on the small bit of food Ezra prepared while other people crack open the bottles of alcohol that were brought. I am assuming Geoff has his own on him because he never once goes to the booze table but seems to be more intoxicated as the night goes on. Poor, poor hopelessly in love Milly.  
I am, eventually, introduced to the homeless looking man. His name is Bert, Milly’s brother. He was the mutual friend that everyone knew but he didn’t realize that they were ever talking about the other person (meaning Geoff and Milly met online but Geoff knew Bert before because their bands toured together). So, not well kept in any sense of the word. He doesn’t quite smell like piss but he does smell like he should have been pissed on, laying in the gutter like he was. 

You are far too mean, Estelle. Your Myers-Briggs ‘J’ is really showing tonight. 

Somewhere in the time I spend here, I get a shot or two (or three) of Vodka in my system. The familiar warmth it brings to my veins makes me smile. My constant blush due to alcohol will make for a good excuse later on, if necessary.  
Eventually, I am also introduced to the lady who was and continues to awkwardly hang around Ray. She is his new-ish girlfriend, Rae who doesn’t talk much but loves classical guitar. I share with her that I had lessons as a kid but could never get the picking right. That sparks a 20 minute long rant fest from her about her instructor and how he was terrible at teaching her and blah blah blah blah. I, honestly, ran out of any fucks at all to give by the time I walked away.  
Frank and Ezra open presents after a while of socializing and giving tours. There is a knifeblock, a few towels, cards like crazy and a small tool set. She laughs at my cheeky gift and gives me a dirty look at the card. I get a hug, though, so that’s nice. 

Ezra lied about the movie watching because it has yet to happen but there is a fire pit. A crowd of 10+ people standing and or sitting around a tiny fire pit is not what I would call a ‘good time,’ though, so I opt to stay inside. There’s heat in here, anyways. Who needs community? Plus, the part of the playlist Frank built for me has started to play and no one wants to miss out on these good songs. The song that inspired my right side rib tattoo plays: ‘Angelfuck.’ In fact, several of my favorite Misfits songs play. Ezra must have given him a list or something.  
She’s terrible with song and band names, though, so you never know.

While a few people are constantly going in and out of the kitchen, no one comes in the living room. I take the opportunity to dance. My favorite thing to do with a bit of drink in my blood is dance. The experience is a little more wobbly, tons more fun.  
The music switches to some bluesy Stripes, which I am forever okay with. Let’s have a ball and…something else, I believe. The lyrics are a bit meaningless when I can’t really focus on them.  
My hips do their natural sway default move when I hear music I enjoy. My hands slap along with the beat on my thighs as I move. Luckily, I haven’t had enough to drink to fall over just yet. Hoping to avoid that, to be honest. No one wants to look like a total drunk at a party filled with your friend’s friends.  
A crashing noise breaks me out of my ‘dance trance.’ My gaze shifts to where the noise comes from. Mikey has Geoff leaning on him, his arm wrapped around Geoff’s shoulders. This is how I expected to see Geoff and Milly at some point tonight. I’m actually glad it’s Mikey instead. Geoff could have fallen on his tiny wife and smashed her overly eye-lined face.  
Drinking makes you bitter, Stell.  
I grimace at myself as the Day brothers walk closer to me. Earlier on in the evening, Frank moved the coffee table out of the way for people who wanted to dance. No one except me really wanted to dance. Seems like I am the only fun person at this party. I back up some to give enough room to the boys so I don’t have a paralytic fall on me.  
“All right?” I don’t stop my swaying as Mikey dumps Geoff on the couch. Geoff laughs but starts coughing. Mikey stands up straight, adjusting his shirt while sighing. My eyes meet Mikey’s.  
“Yeah. He nearly fell into the fire.” Mikey turns to face me then, walking a little closer to me. “Are you alright? Staying in here alone and all…” He gives me an odd look. I shrug in response. Being honest would be telling him that I dislike social situations. Being honest would be me telling him that I would much rather be at home, in my bed drunk than be here, awkwardly dancing and not as drunk as I would prefer. My running theme, it would seem, is booze. People make me drink, also.  
Don’t rely on a depressant to make situations feel better, kids.  
“I’m fine. Don’t handle social situations well.” He nods, turning to look at his brother behind him on the couch. That was much more honest than I was planning to be. Bloody fantastic.  
“Neither does he, apparently.” I scoff, not meaning too.  
“Sorry, I just…” He turns back around, giving me his best half smile.  
“You’re fine. I think he’s got something else in his system.” Michael then starts to awkwardly sway with me, moving just a little bit closer. He decides to whisper the last bit of his statement, his expression turning sour. The song changes to a Chili Peppers song I know and my swaying has a little more heart behind it.  
“You mean like pills or somethin’?” I whisper back, my brows furrowing. He nods, sighing again. “I wouldn’t think him to be that much of a burke.” His expression changes to confusion. “Burke means…uh…Cunt.” He laughs, then, but quietly.  
“I guess he deserves that. Fuckin’ idiot.” We sway silently together for a few seconds before I decide to get his thoughts elsewhere.  
“I love this song. Flea is ace. One of my favorite bass guitarists.”  
“You’re going to not listen to us because mainstream but you like Red Hot Chili Peppers?” He scoffs, I nod. As his head shakes and his eyes roll, I grin.  
“The difference is the target audience and you guys aren’t comparable; different genres completely. Plus, everyone likes the Chili Peppers.” He shrugs, smiling.  
“Whatever you say.” We’re quiet for another moment. “You have favorite bassists?” I nod.  
“Of course. As a self proclaimed ‘music snob,’ I have a list.” The song fades and a new one begins to play; Weezer this go ‘round. Frank, please, get out of my music collection. “It’s only because I always wanted to learn how to play bass.” His eyebrow shoots up. “I took some guitar lessons, some violin, some piano. My parents tried very hard to make me seem cultured.” My only slightly drunk hands go up and being playing air bass along with the song. Once I remember this tomorrow, I will regret the entire evening. I will regret coming to this stupid party. I will especially regret my stupid hair. He watches my air fretting and smirks.  
“You’re getting the placement sort of right but you’re terrible at the picking.”  
“I didn’t claim to be good at anything, Mr. I’m-in-a-fuckin’-band-and-I-play-bass Day.” He chuckles. His hands slowly go up and correctly play along with the song. At least, I’m assuming he’s correctly doing anything. It’s not well lit enough in the room for my wobbly eyes to focus on his hands. I opt to then sing along with the song instead of playing any air instruments. Mikey’s head then shakes while he watches me. He’s probably thinking something about mainstream. Old Weezer is not that main stream. During the breakdown of the song, I try to stare at his hands in a non-creepy fashion.  
“You’ve got great hands, Mikey.” I look up at his face when I say this, winking when we make eye contact. His eyes widen but he smiles. I want to say I see him blush but that’s just me having wishful thinking.  
“Thank you, ma’am.” I nod, grinning. The song changes to something whiney. My swaying comes to a stop. “I’m gonna go for a water, check on the others and maybe grab a snack. Do you mind keeping an eye on him?” I lean to one side, looking at the just barely forgotten about Geoff. His eyes are closed and he’s practically laying on himself.  
“Go ahead, I’ve got ‘em.”  
“Want anything?” I shake my head.  
“I’ll be back in a few.” I watch him turn around and give Geoff a stern look before walking towards the kitchen. He changes the song before going through the doorway. I call out a thank you but get no response. A slower song I don’t recognize comes on but I sway to it any way.  
I hear movement on the couch. Somehow, I closed my eyes without realizing it. My eyes land on Geoff, who is now standing up. He’s not as wobbly as he was when he walked into the room but he’s still a Weeble Wobble.  
“Welcome back to the universe, Geoff.” I laugh quietly, awkwardly, as he looks up at my face. The look on his face was supposed to look friendly but ended up looking a bit sly. His eyes were a bit too…something. I can’t place the look but it wasn’t anything good.  
“Thank you, Stella.” He uses my nickname and I blink a few times. The way it falls out of his mouth gives me goosepimples, not the good kind. At least it wasn’t ‘Stell.’ Geoff moves closer to me, then, wobbling his way over to the beat of the music. “You like bass players?” I wasn’t aware he could hear our conversation but he was in the room with us. Silly me.  
“I’m envious of them, you could say.” I continue to awkwardly sway, to give my body something to do so I don’t seem stiff. He moves closer to me, too close even. My personal space no longer exists. His smell is much more pungent now than it was earlier. Plus, add in the smell of wood smoke and you get a lovely blend of sadness and substance abuse mixed with idiocy.  
“Why envy those guys? There are guys in bands who do so much more work.” He steps on one of my feet. I try my best not to let the pain show on my face.  
“Someone who does more work than keep the rhythm of the song?”  
“Yeah! You always need someone to sing it.” I sigh, shrugging.  
“Agree to disagree.” He grins that grin again. Perhaps the word I am looking for is wicked. He moves his face in a bit too close to me.  
“Whatever you say, pretty lady.” When I feel like he might fall on me, I reach out, putting my palms against his shoulders.  
“Calm it down, Geoff. Why don’t you sit back down for a bit? I can make you a cuppa.” I’ve had several drunken friends nearly pass out or fall over on me. I make ‘em some tea and they usually lay down for a bit. Perhaps I can convin-  
Before my thought can go any further, Geoff has his face in front of mine. He smashes his lips onto mine, smearing my lipstick onto both of our faces. Somehow, his spit gets on my chin. I push him back with force but not so he would fall over.  
“Geoff, stop.” My pulse begins to rise as I begin to internally shout. Not wanting to start a fuss, I decide to handle the situation on my own.  
“Don’t you like me, Stella?” My eyes widen and he goes in for a second terrible excuse for a kiss. I push him back once again. “Come on, baby, just let me in.”  
In between my hushed ‘Geoff, please stop’ and ‘No, what are you doing?’ he tries to sweet talk me more.  
When his lips touch mine once again, my heart is pounding. He’s put most of his body weight on me. When I manage to push him off again, I put as much force as I can into a slap across the right side of his face.  
“That is enough!” I say far too loudly. His hands are holding his face.  
“What is going on?” I gasp at the voice coming from the kitchen doorway. There is my bright red lipstick smeared on both of our faces. My eyes have welled up so I’m sure there are some mascara trails on my cheeks. Both of my fists are clenched so tightly, my palms are probably bleeding. I take a deep breath before turning to look at Mikey, who is slowly walking toward us. Forcing my hands to unclench, I walk toward him, not even trying to wipe my face.  
“I think I’m gonna head out. You should probably take him home, alright?” I brush past him without meaning to, walking towards kitchen to grab my handbag. Fingers brush my arm but don’t grab. I sigh in relief.  
“Are you okay,” Mikey whispers to me, “Do you need me to take you home or something?” I shake my head, stopping for just a moment.  
“I’m fine. Thank you, Michael. Good evening.”  
I spend five minutes in the kitchen, rinsing my face in the sink.  
I spend five more minutes fixing my face.  
I call a cab because it’s nearly 1 am and I don’t want to walk the few blocks it is back to Jemma’s.  
When I have to walk through the living room, I am terribly relieved that no one is in the room.  
When I get home, I am terribly relieved that Jemma is at Edward’s place for the evening.  
I spend an hour in the shower, unintentionally (intentionally). The water is so hot at one point (I don’t remember when exactly), that I scald myself. 

There was a point in the night when I cried but I drank instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this experience to the best of my ability. I haven't experienced this exactly but I felt as if it was something I could write.


	6. Chapter 6

My isolation became something I thought necessary. I decided to avoid people, including my grandmother.   
I did manage to call Ezra the day after the party and apologize for leaving without saying bye. She says Mikey told her I got sick and left.   
He had to clean up his brother. He had to wipe the lipstick off of his face, recognizing the shade. He would have to have seen my makeup all over my face in places where they shouldn't have been.   
After this happened with the boy I dated when I was 16, I thought I was making him happy by just taking it.   
When it happened with Oscar, I refused to talk to him. He apologized profusely but I never really forgave him. I think that's why I didn't love him. I didn't like for him to touch me after a while.   
This time...I don't know. I honestly have no clue how I feel. He wouldn't have done it sober. He would have apologized if he grazed my boob, I think. What he's taking makes him off. How often does that happen? How often has it happened? What does Milly do?   
Was it jealousy? Did he hear how I acted with Mikey and decided he wanted to take what his brother was focusing on for his own? 

As I roll with these thoughts, I manage to feed myself. My eggie in a basket wasn't as satisfying with the low fat butter Jemma likes. I decide food isn't really worth the bother. 

On, I think, the fifth day of my isolation, Jemma tells me she's going out with Edward for the weekend. I barely respond to her. She seems a little concerned but I believe she is assuming I'm homesick. 

As I sit on the couch on my assumed sixth day of isolation, I watch movies. I opt to watch several I've seen with Ezra. I try to remember her reactions to them.   
Doing the time warp again was silly but it made me smile, at least.  
When I'm in the middle of my third movie, someone knocks on the door. Confused, I hesitantly walk over, avoiding the windows on the front wall closest to the door. My feet lift, holding my body up on tiptoe as I look through the peephole on the door.   
Michael Day stands on the other side, looking down at the doorknob. His hands are shoved into his pockets. The expression settled on his face is a blank one. That worries me.  
My heart decides to beat a little faster. Looking down, I check my outfit: pajama bottoms and a big, old t-shirt. Perfect. At least I have a bra on.   
I leave the chain lock on while I open the door, giving me a very slight feeling of security. Somehow, I manage to hide the bulk of my face when I crack the door open.   
His expression changes as he watches me open the door. The tension around his eyes softens, but just slightly.   
"Hello, Michael." My voice is quiet, reserved but just a little croaky. I haven't talked in over a day, not even to myself. Surprising, I know. My monologue usually doesn't stop.   
His brows furrow at my words.   
"Hi Estelle. Ca...Can I come in?" My heart beats a little faster now.   
"Uh..." I turn my head, looking back at the coffee table covered in the snacks I've shoved into my hole, along with the ice cream carton and bottle of alcohol.   
"It doesn't have to be for long." his words make me whip my head back around to look at his face. His expression is worried.   
"Alright." I close the door just so to unlock the chain lock. Once I have the door unlocked and open wide enough for him to get in, he stands for a moment, staring at me.  
I return the favor, eyeing him quickly.   
His leather jacket covers a dark gray hoodie. The pants he wears are as tight or even tighter than those that I wear. His face is a little more sallow than usual, his bags a little too dark, his skin a little too pale. Our eyes meet and his lips twitch.   
"Come in, then." He slides past me, his hand brushing my thigh. I felt his fingernails through my thin pants. The sensation sends a chill across my skin.   
As I close the door, relocking it, he takes off his jacket because I hear him do it.   
My anxiety spikes but I ignore it.   
"How are you doing?" He asks as I turn around. My shrug was the best answer I could give.   
"You?" His face sours a little, his lips turning into a mess.   
"Confused more than anything but physically, I'm okay." I swallow hard, not wanting to talk about what confused him.   
"Yeah?" I immediately regret opening the door. I have no desire to talk about any traumas I've experienced recently. I don't much want to talk about anything, really.   
"Let me get you something to drink. I'm sure you're cold. I'll make a brew." I talk too quickly. My discomfort very obvious, I walk past him to the kitchen.   
"I, uh...okay." He follows me into the kitchen. I fight every urge to sigh.   
"Milk? Sugar?" I hurry around through the cabinets, grabbing things.   
"Sure. Estelle, I wanted to talk to you about why I’m confused."   
"Yeah? Is earl grey okay? It's all Jemma buys."   
"That's fine. The other night at the party, Estelle..."  
"Mhm? Biscuits with that? Oh, sorry, cookies!" I start sounding like a crazy grandmother, throwing a meal together for their children.   
"Estelle!" He practically yells my name. I stop dead, dropping the spoons I had in my hands for the mugs in the sink. The clang makes me cringe. "I don't give a shit about cookies." He walks up behind me, giving me a small amount of space to myself. My breathing becomes a bit heavy while blood rushes to my face and the palms of my hands begin to sweat. "What happened?" I can't make myself turn around even though I would like to.   
"Not sure what you mean, Mikey." I wince when the words leave my mouth, disliking the way the lie tasted.   
"That's bullshit." He moves to my right side, then. I feel the heat radiating off of him. Without really wanting to, I turn to face him. His face is probably as red as mine. "What did he do?" His whispered words make my eyes close. The sigh that escaped my mouth was a tad too shaky to be confident or annoyed. I didn’t want to sigh, either. I have far too many tells. Should work on that.   
"What do you think?" I whisper back, opening my eyes to look at him.   
"He assaulted you." I break eye contact again.   
"He was drunk and probably high."   
"Are you making excuses for him?" A flare of anger burned through me.   
"You think I asked for that? For him to force himself on me?" My tone is defensive, loud. It surprises him.  
"What? No, of course not! Calling him drunk and high makes excuses for his behavior."   
"Not excuses, Michael. It explains his actions. He wouldn't have done that if he was not pissed. Sober Geoff, as far as I know, would be embarrassed if he brushed by my tit." His expression is stern while he listens. "I'm not saying I wanted it, I'm not saying it was okay. He forced himself on me while intoxicated. I stopped him. His wife was there. His family was there. I cannot and will not let one of his intoxicated actions screw up what he has going on." The anger shows all over his body.  
"He's an adult. He should be and will be held accountable for his actions!" The cadence of the sentence is a little too much like Shatner, but without all of the humor. He is much more angry about this situation than I am. I am upset, for sure. I am a little perturbed. It happened to me, after all. However, Michael just witnessed the aftermath of an uncomfortable ordeal.   
Wait, will be held accountable?  
“You cannot tell anyone about this.” Surprise makes his eyes widen and his jaw go slack.  
“Why not?”   
“Has he mentioned it to you? You two live together, you’re close.”  
“No, he hasn’t. He said he doesn’t remember the party at all.” I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head just slightly.  
“Then why bring it up? If he doesn’t remember, then why even talk about it?”   
“Because you’re separating yourself from everyone else who wants to include you in our group.” The statement makes me step back slightly.  
“You think because he kissed me that I’m not going to be around anymore?” He gives me the ‘Duh’ expression.  
“You haven’t talked to any of us in nearly a week.”  
“Because I needed debrief time, Mikey. When this happened with Oscar, I didn’t leave my house for nearly a month, didn’t talk to anyone.” His body loses some of its tension. I try to relax some myself but it doesn’t really happen.   
“This happened with Oscar?” His expression becomes open but with worry around his eyes still, concern. I nod in reply.  
“It’s like I am a huge magnet for unwanted sexual attention.” He frowns.   
“I’m sorry.” I wave my shaking hand, dismissing the apology.   
“It’s fine.”  
“No, it’s not fine. I’m sorry that Geoff did what he did and I’m sorry that men have treated you the way they do. If they took a minute to see you for what you are and not what you look like, they would be intimidated.” I blink a few times, confused. “I mean, you’re beautiful, so that’s already intimidating, but then you add on that you’re incredibly smart and funny, you’re just a threat. They wouldn’t be able to handle it.” My eyes stare at his for a few seconds. He stares back, expression open and far less tense.  
“I see what you’re doing, Michael, and I will have no part in it.” I turn from him then, continuing what I was doing before. Today is not the day where I get flattered and swoon for this guy because no, I’m too busy getting settled in.   
“What am I doing, exactly?” The question is light, perhaps a little teasing.   
“You’re making the situation less tense by flirting. While it works with me because I am quite the whore for flattery, I will not let it change my mood.” He chuckles which gets me to smile.   
“You’re going to just stay stuck in grief mode?” I nod. “I don’t want to make light of the situation, at all, Estelle, but I think you’re great. Hanging out with you is fun. I don’t want you to disconnect yourself anymore than you already have. So, I thought…” His pause peaks my interest. My heart hasn’t slowed down in ten minutes, why start now? I turn to look at him.  
“You thought what?”  
“I thought we could hang out sometime. I’d like for us to be friends.” At first, my heart sinks a little but then I knew better.   
“I’d enjoy that myself, Mister Day.”   
“Cool.” We stand there, staring at each other for a moment. “So, you busy?”  
I can’t help but laugh. It’s the best I’ve felt in days.

Once I finally finish the tea for the both of us, I give him his cup and run off to change clothes. I put real pants on for the first time in a while.  
Sausage casing.   
He and I end up talking about what happened with Oscar. I don’t feel uncomfortable during the conversation. He rubs my back during the bad bits. I do my best not to show too much emotion but a tear or two does fall down my face. His comforting me is interesting. It’s a type of contact I haven’t felt in a long time.   
“I haven’t told Ezra about that.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah. She would have been angry I opted to stay with him. I was angry at myself after a while, though, so her anger would have been completely justified.”  
“I agree.”  
After I wipe under my eyes, I instantly feel claustrophobic.   
“How did you get here?”   
“Took the train then walked.”   
“Can we do that again? I feel like I’m going to be sick. I need air.” I stood up too quickly as I spoke. As I wobble, Michael stands up beside me, steadying me with gentle hands on my shoulders.   
“Uh…Coffee, then?” I nod quickly. He puts back on his jacket. I grab my coat off of the hook next to the door.   
After locking the door, he and I walk down the street toward the train station. The snow isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Cold air stings as I breathe fresh air (well, fresh-ish air because let’s face it, it’s not the country side of Saddleworth) for the first time in days.  
He decides on where to go once we reach the train station. We end up at his favorite coffee place.   
“I want a 16 ounce soy latte, two pumps vanilla with whip.” The barista already knew his name and his order. He must be here often, then.  
“You really need all that mess?”   
“It’s my coffee.” I roll my eyes. He laughs, shaking his head.  
“Can I get a hot tea, please?” The barista nods, taking my name and misspelling it.   
After our names are called, Mikey and I move to a little table in the back corner of the room. Luckily, it’s not terribly busy or loud in here.   
“I come here all of the time,” he speaks as he sips his strange drink. “It’s a short walk from the practice space so I do coffee runs when we have a free minute or two.”  
“Practice space?” My tea is terrible, but I don’t bring it up to him. Just having a warm drink to hold is a comfort to me in this cold weather.   
“Yeah. We can’t really practice in our basement anymore.” His eyebrow rises at me while his eyes narrow. I keep forgetting these guys are in a band that needs to have a practice space.   
“Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re in a band.” I laugh at his hurt expression.  
“Oh, yeah, music snob. Surround yourself with musically talented people and don’t give them the time of day.”   
“Oi! I never said I wouldn’t give you the time of day! I just haven’t had a chance to.”   
“Yeah, yeah. I bet you’re so into your own tastes that you won’t listen to anything anyone else showed you.”   
“That is not true, Mr. Day, you take that back. I very much so enjoy music from others.”   
“Would you be opposed to me schooling you, then?” My laughter is a bit too loud for the space of the coffee shop.  
“No, please, by all means…School me.” 

“Alright, so I’m going to play a few songs for you out of the music from my collection and you tell me if you like any of them, alright?” I nod as he sets up the computer. We walked to the practice space because he had a key and it was closer to the train station than walking to his place. Plus, I don’t much want to be around Geoff or Milly at the moment. I would break down and have a fit.   
The first song starts out a little slow then picks up around the chorus. The lyrics are a little morbid, clearly about vampires. Thrashing guitars and decent drums; I quite enjoy the bass line.   
I wouldn’t chunk this particular song in the horror punk genre but it’s similar.   
The next song is a song I know quite well, a Misfits track, but it’s a cover with the same vocalist as the previous song. When I sing along with every word, Mikey grins. The grin is a little mischievous but I don’t ask any questions. I would rather him ask me something first before saying a thing.   
A few more songs play, mostly punk/pop-punk-esk. Something sad (I’m assuming sad because the piano intro sounded sad) starts to play. Before the words start, if there are words, he changes the song.  
“What’s that for?”  
“Not in the mood to hear it.” I nod, understanding. “What you think so far?” I shrug.  
“Not bad! I rather enjoyed the Misfits cover.” He nods, smiling.   
“I thought you might.”  
“Who did that, then? Anyone you know?” He chuckles very quietly.  
“Sister To Sleep.” My expression must be silly because he laughs again.  
“You’re kidding.” He shakes his head.  
“The song before that was us too. Some of our older stuff but we still play it live occasionally. Depends on how Geoff wants the set to go.” I scoff.  
“Well…damn.”   
“Want me to play you a newer song?” I shrug, not really caring at this point. “This is one we’ve been working on recently.”   
The quality of the song is much better than that of the previous two.  
Geoff is mixed well with the other guys. The bass is great. I keep focusing on the lyrics more than anything.   
“Is this on an album? EP?”  
“It’s a b-side.”  
“Play it again?”  
The second time I notice the smaller things I didn’t before but mostly, I keep focusing on the words.  
“Is this what connecting on an emotional level to a song feels like?” He laughs quietly, giving me a funny look.  
“Why do you say that?”  
“Because I feel like this was written about me.” His head tilts as his eyes narrow just slightly. “I _was_ killin’ before killin’ was cool.” I grin; he smiles.   
“We might have talked to Ez a little around the time we wrote this. The guitar came first. Ray and Frank liked this riff they came up with. Geoff was inspired, I guess.”   
“Silly goose. Haven’t even met me yet and already writing songs about me.”  
“What can I say? Premonition.” I swat at him while he giggles a little. I find that I’m giggling too.  
When did this turn into a date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't handle these two.


	7. Chapter 7

The following day, I got a call from my very best friend, inviting me out for lunch. Of course, I agreed.   
“But only if we can go to that shite Italian place I wanted to go to before.” Our previous girl outing had been shopping for her housewarming party. She refused to go the said restaurant. We eventually agreed that I would get this one time at the sketchy restaurant but our next date will be some silly chain place that had deep-fried onions and pumpernickel bread.  
“I’m telling you, you’re going to dislike it. You’ve had real Italian. This is Americanized crap.”   
“I’ll take my chicken strips with marinara, thanks.” She laughed. I’m glad Americans get my jokes. They’re wasted on the English. 

I did end up ordering chicken Parmesan. She orders some vegetable pasta. I refuse to try it because the smell coming from it makes me want to throw it across the room.  
“So…” I decide it’s about time to tell her about yesterday, opting to leave the bits out about why Michael really decided to come over, however. No one wants to bring that up just yet. “I had an odd day yesterday.”  
“Oh yeah?” Her slurp sound made me smirk as she tries to keep sauce off of her chin. “Yeah. Mikey popped over.” Her eyes make an odd, questioning shape as she chews.  
“Why?”   
“He decided to confront me. I was wearin’ my favorite pajamas, couldn’t be buggered.” She scoffs. “At least I had a bra on.”   
“I was going to ask if you did.” We share a quiet laugh. “So, he came over while you were having a lazy day to confront you…why?”  
“He was worried about me, I suppose. Was wonderin’ why I haven’t been around.” She nods. “I need settle in time, yeah? Debrief time. I just met a ton of folks. Being around people takes it out of me.” She nods more, taking another bite of her food. I prod at mine, pushing it around on my plate more than eating it.   
“I figured you would come to me when you were ready to do something. Plus, Frank’s got me décor crazy right now. This is the first free day I’ve had in a week.”  
“Where’s he?” The water here tastes terrible as I sip on it. Good thing I’m not paying anything for it.  
“Band practice. “ I nod.  
“Oh, so anyway, he comes over, gets a little in my face about things. I tell him what for, explain my introversion…Eventually, I change, he and I go out for coffee then he takes me to the practice space to play music for me. Gave him my number.” I shrug, glad that Jemma decided to get me an American mobile. She gives me a wide-eyed look of satisfaction while chewing.  
“Finally heard what they sound like, the older stuff.”  
“What do ya think?”  
“Could go for a grittier feel, but not bad!” She laughs quietly, shaking her head. “Geoff must have had some strange obsession with vampires.”  
“Geoff has strange obsessions with everything.” Right then.

We finish up our food. I get mine boxed for take-away because I couldn’t be bothered to eat. Frank calls her to tell her practice is over. She decides to invite everyone over for a movie.  
As we walk to her front door from the driveway, the thought of Geoff being here hits me.  
Keeping your breathing calm is hard when you aren’t sure how.  
Walking in, there’s no obvious sign of Geoff.  
Ray, Rob, Frank and Mikey sit on the sectional, talking about whatever. Music is playing but it’s just there to be background noise. They look up when I close the door. We get half smiles from Ray and Rob. Frank beams at his wife. Mikey’s eyes lock onto me, his expression flat.   
He knows this is going to be the first time seeing Geoff after.  
Ezra moves to the couch, flopping down next to Frank. They share an overly gross kiss. I scowl, shaking my head.  
“How was lunch? Did you guys go to Mama’s Café?” The shite Italian place had a name that made it sound terrible. It was terrible, so that makes perfect sense.   
“We did. She hated it, so I’m glad she’ll stop asking.” I chuckle, walking in closer to everyone after realizing I was still standing awkwardly by the door.   
“Geoff’s bringing pizza, so I hope you saved room.” Frank looks at me then, a genuine smile plastered on his face. I offer my best but it doesn’t look it.   
“Of course. I’ll just toss this, I think.” My Styrofoam box looked pathetic in my hands.  
“You got the parm. Bad choice.” My eyes narrow at Frank.  
“Obviously.” I nod at him, turning to walk behind the sectional to the kitchen. Tossing the box in the bin, I move to the sink to wash my hands. The table at the restaurant felt sticky so my hands haven’t felt clean since we sat down. A loud tinkling sound comes from the living room. Assuming that’s the television turning on, I try to quickly dry my hands.  
The sound of a knock at the door makes every muscle in my body tense up. The guys call out that it’s open. I swear I hear the hinges creak as the door opens. Everyone in the living room makes a loud-ish excited sound. Springs and wood groan as everyone stands up from their seats and walks towards the kitchen. After a deep breath, I put the rag down on the counter I was using to dry my hands and turn around. Ezra and Frank are the first into the kitchen. She immediately moves to the island, making space for whatever Geoff has brought with him. Frank moves to help her.  
Rob and Ray go to the table, pulling out chairs and sitting down. Mikey moves close to me, standing beside me at the sink. When I turn to look up at him, his eyes are already locked onto mine. I stare hard as I hear Geoff walk into the room.  
“That place is getting more expensive every time I go in. It’s nearly ten bucks for one large pizza.” Mikey’s eyes widen, his mouth forming a hard, stiff line. I just barely shake my head, giving him a stern look. His body language clearly reads defensive. This man, after really only spending one day with me, is willing to protect me from his brother who, I would like to point out, is his best friend and confidant. My heart flutters a little differently at that thought while still beating like mad.  
‘Thank you,” I mouth to him wordlessly; he nods once. At the same time, we turn to face the rest of them.   
Geoff sports a dark colored button-down shirt and black blazer. His pants are incredibly tight dark wash jeans and his boots are a little too short for me to be okay with them. His sunglasses still sit on his face. The reek of cigarette smoke wafts from him. I try my best not to cough.   
Moving from one crutch to another. Lovely.   
He puts down the four pizza boxes and the plastic sack he carried down on the counter with a grunt. As he slides his sunglasses off of his face, Geoff turns to look at us. My heart slides its way up to my throat. His three steps towards us are a few too many for me to be comfortable.  
“Hey Stella, long time no see!” He smiles a goofy smile I’ve seen before, while at the wedding. He’s sober, or what I think is sober.   
He used my nickname, however, so it makes my skin crawl. My thoughts flash back to the terrible, lip-bruising kiss. My breathing becomes a little too quick to feel comfortable.   
“Yeah, sorry, mate.” My mumbled words were the best I could do.   
“How ya been? We’ve been worried about you.” As the knots begin to form in my gut, I glance over in the direction of Ezra. She, by some miracle, looks up at me the same time I look at her. Knowing me for over ten years, she immediately gets that something is wrong.   
“I’ve been okay. Just, uh…” Her brows furrow in confusion. I shift my eyes from the living room back to her then turn to look back at Geoff. “Just tryin’ to settle. Parties always make me uncomfortable.” My awkward laugh makes him smile.  
“Me too.” Mikey and I’s conversation replays in my head from that night and I want to hide behind the tall boy standing beside me.  
“Stell, wanna help me go find those paper plates from the wedding in the garage? We’ve yet to unbox the dishes we got yesterday.” Ezra moves over to me, grabbing my hand with hers. She would obviously feel my clamminess.   
“Of course, love.” I mumble. She practically drags me out of the room, towards the door to the garage from the living room.  
Once the door is shut, we stand and face each other. Concern radiates off of her, body language speaking volumes. I have never seen Ezra look at me this way.  
“What’s wrong? Was it lunch?” I shake my head, feeling like I’m finally able to breathe. After a breath or two, I try my best to word the truth gently.  
“Something happened at the housewarming party, with Geoff.”  
“Oh...kay. What happened?”  
“After he nearly fell in the fire, Mikey brought him inside. I was inside because it was too cold for me.” She nods, staring at me intently. Shame washes over me. I can’t look at her face. “Mikey and I talked for a few minutes then he went back outside to check on you lot. Geoff, being the boozed out bloke that he was, awkwardly danced with me then, uh…” My nauseous stomach turned a few times. Is it possible to feel the color drain out of you? “He forced himself on me.”  
“What?!” I look up at her then, shushing her. Her eyes were aflame. My palms go up in a defensive manner.  
“It was just a kiss or two. Unwanted, yeah but I didn’t get groped or nothin’.” Her one nearly sigh breath was heavy.  
“Did…Have you told anyone else?” If it were possible for me to have such sweaty palms that they would drip, it would be happening now.  
“Mikey kinda saw it.” Her eyes widen. “I had to slap Geoff to get him to stop it. I might have yelled. I think Michael heard me yell and slap him then walked in.” Wishing my knuckles could crack more, I look up at her face. “You know my red lipstick. It’s my normal look.” As I speak, I resist the urge to lick my lips, which are currently covered in the forsaken product. “It was all over both of our faces. He would have had to figure it out…” She nods, shrugging along because she would have definitely figured it out. “And he did. That’s why he came over yesterday.”  
“He confronted you about being assaulted?!” I wanted to defend Mikey, his reason for coming over, but she was right.  
“He was worried that I was separating myself because of it. He wants to confront Geoff ab-“  
“I fucking want to confront Geoff.” I quietly sigh, shaking my head.  
“But you can’t. I can’t. No one can.”  
“Of course you can. Don’t you dare think he can just do that to you and get away with it.”  
“He was intoxicated. Mikey says he doesn’t remember the party at all.”  
“So what?! He still needs to know what he’s done!” Without realizing it, my hand goes up to touch her shoulder.  
“He…is famous…and married. While I am unsure as to the reason he did it, I’m no home wrecker.” If I could hear myself, I would call my tone defeated, weak. She looks as though she wants to start to speak again but I lift up my hand to quiet her. “I’m not going to ruin the reputation or life of a man who, clearly, is in a bad way. I’m fine, just…seeing him reminded me of the party.” Ezra’s expression is clearly unhappy. She and Mikey are clearly thinking the same thing but they will listen to my reasoning and not say a word.   
“Are you gonna be alright for tonight? Do we need to…?” I shake my head, taking a deep breath before speaking.  
“I’ll be fine. Just keep an eye out?” She nods. For a few quiet seconds, we stare at each other before she pulls me into a tight hug.   
Before we walk back into the kitchen, she quickly grabs the plates from a box on a shelf. Of course she already knew where they were.   
The pizza boxes had been moved to the table and pizza was already being consumed. What a lovely bunch of patient boys we’ve got here.  
“You guys better not get any grease stains on my table cloth. I will make you buy a new one.” A few quiet chuckles come from them. There’s an empty seat next to Geoff, which Ezra takes, thank the Lord, and an empty seat next to Frank, which I take. Ezra’s seat happens to be directly across from Mikey.  
As everyone else begins talking and eating both the pizza and the breadsticks, Ezra stares Michael down. They have a silent conversation filled with glances and very minimal expressions. I try my best to talk along with everyone but I focus mostly on them. My pulse eventually evens out. Keeping an eye on Geoff, listening to his voice, I can clearly tell he’s sober. I put that business in the back of my mind while I focus on everything else around me.

The movie that is decided upon while pizza is consumed is the Labyrinth. Everyone here very much so loves Bowie.   
Who can get enough of those tight, ill-fitting pants? Definitely not me. 

Frank, Ezra, Geoff, Rob and Mikey all get seats on the sectional. Ray brings in a chair from the kitchen to sit beside the couch. Maybe people sitting that close to him bothers him. I opt to sit in the floor beside the coffee table. The boys make a fuss but I shush them.   
As the movie goes on, I eventually find myself leaning back against the couch. By total accident (cough), half of my body leans up against Mikey for the majority of the movie.   
“You know he had a hand double for that, yeah?”  
“Obviously.”   
“Someone is very talented with balls.” Everyone groans at Frank’s bad joke.

When the credits begin to roll, everyone begins to stretch.  
“I don’t still understand that fucking movie.” Ezra and I have watched the movie together before and she said this. For her to continue to not understand makes me giggle.   
“Don’t try understand it, love, just accept that David has a huge cock and move on with your life.” My bad joke gets a few small laughs.

We decide to watch another movie because why not. This time, it’s a terrible action-esk car movie. Upon hearing the title, something to do with drifting and Japan, I assume it’s a terrible movie.   
Let’s say I was not wrong. The amount of shirtless Asian men was lacking and honestly, I can’t be buggered to enjoy a car movie.   
“I can only see that man as a huge babysitter.”  
“Are you kidding? He’s an action star!”  
“An action star who, unlike most action stars, refuses to be type cast…OH, WAIT.”  
I get a chuckle, an honest round of laughs, which makes me grin.

As everyone stands around, putting their coats on, I contemplate my walk home. I suppose my expression was a worried one because it peaked the interest of one Michael Day.  
“What’s up?” The quiet conversations around us become a dull hum in the background. I am surprised at how easily I can fade everyone else out of my mind.  
“Oh, nothing. Just, uh, was thinkin’ ‘bout the walk home.” His brows furrow and a slight frown sets on his lips.  
“It’s nearly midnight. Not sure if walking is a good idea or not.” I shrug.  
“Ezra’s too tired to drive me and Frank’s a terrible driver.” He smirks, causing me to blush. I try to silently tell my body to calm down when Mikey throws a wrench at me.  
“I can take you home, if you want.” My wide-eyed stare must have confused him. “It’s two seconds. I would much rather you have a ride then walk right now.” My smile is too big. Perhaps I am too flattered. In any case, it makes him blush a little.   
“Thank you.” My words are quiet as I look away. Hoping that looking away would make my face less red, I focus my gaze on the side table.  
“It’s no problem, Estelle.”   
Everyone else leaves before us. I’m able to look at Geoff’s face without freaking out, which is a major bonus, seeing as how I’m going to be around him more often than not.  
We say our byes to Ezra and Frank and walk outside. Out of all of the cars that were in the driveway, I assumed that this grotty old 1990s Toyota was his. I made the assumption because the backseat was clean, mostly, and the exterior of the car was clean, mostly. Michael seems like a person who would actually care about appearances but not want to look like he cares too much.  
The boy obviously has some sort of insecurities that he’s not touching on.  
I’m also overthinking absolutely everything because I am trying to avoid thinking about sharing a car space with him. As we walk towards the car, he hesitates, stopping in front of the driver side fender. As I hesitate behind him, his arms move a little. After shaking his head, he continues towards his door.   
“All right?” I ask, after I sit down in the passenger seat and close the door. The questioning tone wasn’t what I was originally going for but can’t change it much now.  
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I just…” He fumbles around in his pockets for his keys while he speaks. “I thought about opening the door for you.” My face instantly feels like it’s on fire. The fire feeling spreads through my blood.  
“That’s, uh…”  
“Silly, weird, I know.” I shake my head as the car starts to reverse.  
“No, no, no, not at all! The fact that you stopped to think about it is very sweet, really.” As he straightens up the car in the road, his eyes lock onto my face briefly.   
“You think so?”  
“Chivalry will never be wasted on me, Michael Day.” He smirks as he stares down the dark road. His hand goes to the radio, turning it on and adjusting the volume.   
A song I recognize comes on, an older track. It brings back the memory of Ezra and I contemplating what songs would sound like slowed down. Remembering the conversation makes me chuckle a little to myself quietly.  
“What’s up?” When I look out of the windshield, I can see Jemma’s house.   
“I’ve got a few memories connected with this song.”  
“Message In A Bottle by The Police?” The tone of his voice makes me laugh loudly. He pulls over in a space that is, by some miracle, available in front of our place.  
“I’ll have to tell you the story sometime.” When he looks over at me, he and I share a stare for a long minute. “Uh, thanks for the ride.” He nods, shrugging. “How did you know where I live, by the way?” The darkness hides what I am going to assume is a blushing Michael.  
“When Ezra told us you were moving here, she told us your address.” My brows furrow, but I ignore it. Mikey’s head turns, then, to look down at the radio. As he reaches towards the radio, I lean in, planting a small kiss on his cheek. Before he has any time to react, I get out of the car.  
“Good night, Mister Day.”   
“Uh, night, Estelle.” Without bothering to turn around and look at him, I walk to the front door and let myself in.   
If I act like my heart’s not pounding, if I act like I’m not nervous or terrified, I won’t come across that way…right?


	8. Chapter 8

The next week was relatively quiet. Ezra came over once and ate with me while Jemma was gone. We had terrible boxed pasta and caught up on terrible prime-time television.   
Even after getting married, she still loves those terrible wedding shows. I do have to admit that looking at some of those gowns makes me pine for a husband gaining celebration.   
She suggested that I have everyone over sometime for dinner. I do like (haphazardly) cooking for a crowd. I could make something terribly American, pull out all of the stops and heat up something premade. That’s living the dream, right?  
I, instead, invite just one person over for dinner.   
Assumptions can be made, yes, I am that predictable.  
I would like to thank him for how he’s been with me over the last few days.  
Let me explain…  
Since the movie night (the cheek kiss), he and I have been texting quite a bit.   
All of it started out with me apologizing for said face kiss. That started a tumbling down of awkward flirting and ‘no need to apologize’ messages back and forth from two of us.  
While during all of this, I don’t even think of him being in any sort of relationship.  
Just like me to assume who I’m, uh, ‘talking to,’ is single.   
Via text message, I invite Michael over for a delightful meal of corndogs and mac-n-cheese. Jemma just barely let me have corndogs in the house. The one American treat I can’t get enough of. I tell him that I haven’t had a corndog in ten years, neither has he. He agrees to come over.  
Sunday night rolls around. I spend the majority of the morning grooming myself more so than I should have. Fussing over my outfit took much longer than expected, especially because I end up settling on a cardigan and my best sundress. The deep, emerald green of the cardigan works well with the blue hues of the dress.  
I put the frozen meat on a stick covered in cornbread treats in the oven with the heat maybe a little too high before going to fuss with my hair again. After, I’m going to assume five or so minutes, I hear a knock at the door. After one deep breath, I walk to the living room. Of course, I make a pit stop at the large mirror on the wall in the living room to fuss with my hair for a millisecond before opening the door. His face is open, comfortable. I haven’t seen his eyes without liner in ages (more like days). They keep doing photo sessions and interviews, promoting their international tour that starts in April (thankfully, after my birthday). Michael decided to dress up a little for me. I say that because he’s wearing a light grey button down shirt, covered by his usual jacket and dark, tight pants. There’s also a black tie in there too, a skinny one, so I’m completely wrecked.   
My palms begin sweating within three seconds.   
“Well, hello there mister.” The smile on my face is strategically sweet. His returning smile makes my chest ache. Who knew such a small mouth could hide such a big grin?  
“Hello there, yourself, Estelle. You look lovely.” My blush is quite obvious as it spreads across my upper half.   
“Thanks, come on in.” I move, stretching an arm out to direct him inside. He quickly scoots in past me. The doorknob locks into place as he takes off his jacket.   
“How was the drive over? Musta been terrible.” Snow came down last night and early this morning.   
“It wasn’t terrible. They’ve salted this side of the city already…” As he hangs his jacket on the hook, his expression changes to one of worry. I am immediately concerned for my well-being. “Do you smell that?” Shrugging, I sniff a few times. “Something’s burning. Are you cooking?” He quickly moves in the direction of the kitchen while a short, to the point expletive leaves my lips.   
The five minutes I spent worrying about how I looked might have been closer to ten, maybe more. The compliment I received was, in my humble opinion, very much so worth it.  
I trail behind him into the kitchen.   
“Are you…What could you be making at 450? The corndogs?!” As he opens up the oven, a cloud of smoke engulfs us. I hear the pan clang on the stovetop as I cough, waving the smoke out of my face.   
For being as environmentally friendly and terribly health conscious as she is, Jemma doesn’t have a smoke detector, or a working one rather.  
Michael coughs once or twice as he reaches, turning the oven off.  
“Were you trying to broil them?” The smoke starts to fade, leaving a dingy haze in the room.   
“I thought that if I left them on a higher heat for a shorter amount of time, that it’d just even out, yeah?” I watch as he tries not to laugh but can’t keep the chuckle out of his mouth.   
“Sure, if you pay attention to them. How long have they been in?”  
“What I thought was five minutes might have been closer to fifteen.” His palm rubs across his eyes while he quietly laughs. Those long fingers of his (that I often find myself staring at) rest over his lips as he stares at me. A smile sits behind his hand. Glancing down at the oven, I see the charred, black sticks and frown.  
“’Suppose I’m not Suzy Home Maker, then, but at least I gave it my all.”  
“To pre-cooked, could have put them in the microwave corndogs, sure.” His mumbled words make my cheeks even hotter. I can’t bring myself to look up from my embarrassment. Mikey picks up on it, moving a step closer to me. “Aw, don’t…It’s okay, I’m just teasing you.” The idiotic tears welling up in my eyes make me feel like a child being scolded. “Geoff nearly caught our apartment on fire by burning up a coffee pot. All you did was ruin our dinner.” I scoff then, looking up at him. His small smile eases some of my distraught. “Anyways, I shouldn’t expect a rich kid to know how to cook. You had a butler, for God’s sake.” Even though his statement shouldn’t offend me, it does. My fist finds his bicep, giving him a nice wallop.   
“Rich kids can do a lot, you know…for example, buy your apartment complex and evict you for no reason.”  
Michael suggests we go out for dinner, after the smoke clears.   
I don’t want to eat only mac and cheese so I agree.   
The drive over was a bit too slushy for my taste, but in the short amount of time I have spent with Michael Day in an automobile, he's a decent driver.  
The restaurant he decides upon is some Mexican place. The menus look like they were made in 1995. The color scheme of the décor is absolutely atrocious. However, they have it quite dark in the seating area, so I can keep my gagging to a minimum. We’re seated in a back corner booth, near the kitchen doors.   
It has been ages since I’ve eaten at a Mexican place, so I have to keep asking him what things are.  
“No, it’s more of a -ong sound.”  
“That’s bloody ridiculous. No, not ordering that, then.”  
“Really?”  
“If I can’t pronounce something to the American or Mexican high bloody standard, then no, not ordering it.”  
He laughs. I bask in the sound of it.   
When did I become so attached to this guy?  
I end up with nachos. Mikey gets some sort of burrito with an odd, dark sauce. When I steal a taste of said sauce, it leaves a burnt flavor on my tongue.   
“You know, the whole point of me inviting you over was to say thank you.”  
“For what?”  
“Ya know, just…doing what you’ve been doing.”  
“Being a human being? Breathing?”  
“Don’t be so daft.”  
“I don’t want to make assumptions, Estelle.”  
“Assume away. I want to know what you think.”  
“So, you want me to say that I think you want to thank me for being a decent person to you? Treating you like a friend, because you are my friend?”  
“You were willing to defend me from your brother, your best mate, your blood.” He simply nods, staring directly into my eyes. “You probably are still willing to protect me from him, if that were the case.”  
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”  
“Because well, he’s your brother and I’ve only been around for a month. You don’t know me all that well. Uh…”  
“What he did will never be okay. That day, when I came to talk to you about what had happened, you looked like you were just…beaten down, like you had just unwound. I would never wish that on anyone, that feeling. Knowing that my brother caused that when I was in the next room over just made me feel sick.”  
“You looked it.” He nods.   
“So, really, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to keep it from happening.”  
“None of that is your fault, Michael.”  
“Geoff heard our conversation, I’m sure.”  
“And?” I sip on my water while he cuts at the remnants of his food.  
“My brother is a broken man. All of us are, though, the guys. He’s the worst of us. It’s gotten to the point where he feels like he has to fight to be seen. Even though Geoff is the front man in our band, idolized by hundreds of thousands of kids, and married to the one woman who will never see any of his flaws…he feels like he has to scrape and claw and fight to be seen or heard. I know all of that because when I have to spend nights on the bus cleaning him up or putting him in bed, he tells me all of his secrets.”  
“How long has he been a substance abuser?” Mikey scoffs then, shrugging.  
“Probably since college, maybe even late high school. He’s been on anti-depressants for years, alcohol for longer.” I frown, then. Michael’s tone changes, making him slump over some. The genuine concern he has for his brother makes me worry for Geoff even more. If Mikey feels like he can’t help, what can the rest of us do?  
“I’m sorry it’s all your responsibility.” He shakes his head.  
“It isn’t. I just make it my responsibility. He took care of me when I was young, I should return the favor.”   
“You don’t owe him anything, Mikey, especially now that you all are in the spot light. He should keep himself in check.” He shrugs, clearly done with the conversation. Our waiter comes by, asking if we needed anything else. I cut him off in the middle of his desert speech by requesting the check. “If there is one thing I know, Michael Day, it’s that you deserve much more respect, adoration, and terrible fan fiction written about you.”  
He cracks a smile for the first time in five minutes.  
“Don’t google yourself, you’ll regret it.”  
“Don’t worry, I already do.”

 

After the incredibly depressing dinner, I decide to tell Mikey I want a coffee. Actually, though, I don’t want any coffee but I’m sure he does. This Mexican place happens to be near his favorite shop; I saw it on the way here. As predicted, he agrees.   
I offer to pay for the coffee because he paid for dinner but he refuses.   
“Why can’t I pay for my own, then?”  
“Because I made dinner terrible with my outpouring of icky emotions.” I laugh.   
We walk into the shop, my shoes clacking on the floor disrupting the quiet calm of the place. I order a tea while he orders his usual drink. The barista takes our names and we move to the side to wait for our drinks.   
“Mikey!” A nasally voice comes from our left. As I turn to look at the sound, a grimace forms on my face. It’s a girl, I think. I will do my best to avoid placing any stereotypical labels or social constructs on this person.  
Let us just say that this person is covered in tattoos, which I don’t mind, but they’re terrible tattoos. Cheap, awful color. The hair on the top of their head is bleached with black bits and the purple color that once, I’m sure, was vibrant and lovely has turned into a faded mess.   
Their outfit was tight, black, and covered with zippers. Obviously, it is something sold in a mall somewhere. Cute face, though, so there’s that. Also obviously, I am terribly catty with females (in this case, assumed) other than Ezra or myself. Need to work on that.   
Michael’s body language changes as he tenses up slightly when he sees this person.   
As they get closer, he moves just ever so slightly closer to me.  
“Mikey, hi! How are you?” Michael awkwardly laughs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. They stop in front of us, smiling largely. The glances I’m getting make me feel uncomfortable.   
“Hey, Mal. I’m good, you?” She nods excitedly, a large fake grin on her face.  
“I’m great! How’ve things been? I didn’t know you guys were back from L.A.” Michael continues his awkward laugh session. I have to try really hard to keep the grimace off of my face.   
“We came back for the wedding.”  
“Oh, yeah! Ezmarelda and Frankie! Sorry I couldn’t go with.” I felt an anger I haven’t felt in a while. Probably more like jealously but whatever. Also, Frankie? You have got to be kidding me. She laughs a terribly fake laugh, reaching out and touching Mikey’s arm. Flames, all I see are flames.  
“We’re being rude. Mal, this is my friend Estelle. Estelle, this is Mal.” She reaches out, offering a handshake. After wishing I had Cyclops’ laser vision, I give her a firm, court shake.   
“How’s it goin’, mate?” She hears my accent and makes a shocked or surprised expression. I can’t tell due to the fact that the majority of her eyebrows are shaved off. Also, I don’t care.   
“Ooohh! Where are you from?”  
“Saddle...Uh, Manchester.”  
“Oh, fun! Is that near London?” I shoot a glance at Michael who is looking back at me. After contemplating it a moment, I shrug (not wanting to make this conversation far longer than it needs to be).  
“Sure.”  
“I’ve always wanted to go to London, but these boys won’t take me with them.” She giggles then…Giggles. Michael rubs the back of his neck again. Before I speak again, I hear our names called by the barista.   
“I’ll go grab those! You two catch up, yeah?” I give both of them the fakest smile. Before I get to the bar, I have my phone in my hand. ‘Mal?’ is my text message to Ezra. Within seconds, I get a reply that only says “HAHAHAHA!” Then a second message stating I can get a backstory later on, when I call her. I fetch our drinks and move to walk back to the odd couple. She stands completely in front of him now, entirely too close for personal space sake.   
“You have to call me sometime! I still owe you that cheesecake slice!”   
“Nah, you’re fine, Mal, really.”  
“No, I mean it! Do you still have my number?” Her voice is more stereotypical Valley than any other American I’ve met. I want to cunt punt this person. The sounds coming out of her mouth would be made less annoying if she didn’t have the metal bar through her tongue. As I reach the two of them, I slide right back in beside Mikey like I was before. Our bodies bump slightly; goose pimples cover my arms. I’m glad to be wearing a cardigan. Fingers brush as we trade off his cup. Before he can answer, I decide to cut off the conversation. Michael’s body is much more tense than before.   
“Michael, would you be opposed to taking me home now? It’s far too late for me.” Watching Mal’s face fall was worth all of the terrible time spent around her.  
He looks down at me, shrugging. “A pleasure, Mal.” I nod at her, adding in a slight lean with my shoulders for effect. She nods back, a fake smile still plastered on her face.  
“Great to meet you, Ester.” Before she finishes her statement, I turn around and walk away from her. A guy coming inside holds the door open for me as I basically storm out of the shop.   
With quick thumb movements, I dial Ezra’s number.  
“She called me Ester.” The venom in my words stop my friend’s hello in mid-syllable. Ezra’s cackle practically busts my phone’s speaker. I’m in the car before she starts talking.  
“Mal isn’t her actual name. Her real name is Tiffany Richardson. She’s one of those fucking scene punks who tacked on some dumb word to her name. So she goes by Tiffany Malicious, but mostly just Mal.” I could throw my phone through the windshield.  
“You’re fucking joking.” She laughs at my tone, which does sound a bit too dark.  
“Nope.”  
“Fangirl?”  
“No. They went on a few dates back before they went to record in L.A. I think it was mostly a favor to Milly.” My groan sounds more disgusted than annoyed.   
“What a load of bollocks.” As my eyes catch him walking out of the shop, the thud in my chest increases. “Fuck, he’s comin’. I’ll call ya later.” Quickly hanging up, I shove my phone in the top of my dress. Mikey opens the door and slides into the car, placing his coffee in the cup holder.  
With his keys in the ignition, he sits quietly, hands on the steering wheel while I full-body-turned-in-his-direction stare at him. We sit like this for nearly 3 minutes.  
“So, uh…” After he speaks, I watch his Adam’s apple bob on his throat as he swallows.  
“So…Malicious.” His eyes close. I can see him physically fight a sigh. “You…dated that?” Michael’s laugh is quiet but defeated while he nods.  
“It was a favor to Milly. I owed her.”  
“What could you have possibly owed her that would cost you…that?”   
“There were a few times where I dumped Geoff off on her when I shouldn’t have.”   
“So, you ditched your brother so he could spend time with his wife? That’s not a ‘you owe me’ kind of thing, Mikey.”  
“She managed to talk me into it, I guess.” When he turns to look at me, his face glows red in the light of the dimly lit parking lot. While his tone is slightly defensive for no real reason, I decide to back off.   
“I guess she’s not all that bad…”  
“No…No, she is.” As I sip on my barely cooled off enough to even think about touching tea, I give him ‘explain that’ eyebrows. “We never fooled around, but she stole some of my underwear.” It takes all of my strength to not spit hot tea everywhere.

He and I spend the next few minutes, or maybe an hour or two, driving around the city and sharing embarrassing dating stories.  
I tell him about the awkward date with Oscar and some of his cast mates. It involved sushi and drunken Oscar singing karaoke.   
He shares a story from high school about that particular girlfriend who started her period while they were out at a friend’s house party. Bloody crotches on both of their pants is the assumed outcome and I am not disappointed. 

When we pull up to Jemma’s house, he gets out of the car and walks me to the door.  
“Can I ask you something, Mikey?”  
“Of course, anything.”   
“When did this become a date?” Taken aback by my question, he stares off to the side for a moment.   
“Well, for me, it was the moment I realized I never wanted to date anyone like Mal ever again.” His eyes move back up to look into mine. “When did it feel like a date to you?”  
“The moment you saved me from burning my house down…” I pause, collecting a quick thought or two before continuing. There were things I invited him over for in the first place. “It became a date when you saved me from your brother.” He starts to speak, but I put my hand up to stop him. “You picked me over your best friend, your blood. While standing guard, you didn’t see much action but you still were willing to protect me from him. You still are.” He nods. Michael looks down for a moment, his eyes shifting quickly.   
“If I’m being honest, it became a date when you invited me over. I did wear a tie, after all.” I snicker.   
“It looks great on you, by the way.”  
“Thank you. “ We share a grin. A few seconds pass in our silence. “This is when I say goodnight, I think.”  
“Oh, yeah.” Disappointment rings through my body but just for an instant. Already this attached? God help me. “Well, goodnight, Mister Day.” My old etiquette coach would laugh at my halfhearted attempt at a curtsey.  
“Goodnight, Miss James.” He very ever so slightly bows. What a silly American boy.   
As he turns to walk down the stairs, I shove my key in the deadbolt lock. My racing heart tells me to do one thing while my levelheaded, smooth brain tells me to do another. Both involve lips, but not on the same parts of Mikey’s body. I turn to look before he’s even off of the stairs. He must be feeling some awkward hesitation too.   
“Michael?” His body whips around to look at me, an eyebrow raised. I take one step down, meeting him in the middle.  
The kiss I place on his cheek is more so on the corner of his mouth than anything else.   
I don’t stop him when he pulls me back in for a second…or even for the third.


	9. Chapter 9

The day following the kiss consisted of a few things. The first being the first “good morning” text message I’ve received in quite a while. Except, it wasn’t really a good morning text message. Mikey sent me a message around 8 A.M. saying, “Should I start sending good morning messages? You seem like the type to like those sorts of things.” It woke me up. I knew he was the airport, headed to L.A. for some promotion stuff.   
This message was cheeky and cocky.   
I loved it.   
“Of course,” I answered, “It’s now a necessary requirement. If you fail to do so, I will complain and bitch about it.”  
“Thought so,” he replied.   
The messages after that were about what that meant, what was happening between us. We agreed that we both rather enjoyed each other’s company. We agreed that we want to continue to be in each other’s company (alone). However, due to the fact that it’s a little quick (and the fact that I don’t want internet girls I don’t know to hate me for no real reason), we decide to keep whatever this is that we are a secret.  
Ezra would give me a dirty look and say, “I told you so,” or, at least, something to that effect.   
Usually, though, my adult…infatuations? Crushes? Whatever they’re called, they don’t last.  
I get turned down.  
This seems casual, easy. I’m not going to make it more than what it is in my head. I’ll try not to, anyways. 

This same day, after various random messages and me doing nothing around the house, he invited me to one of their bar shows. They were going to play a few small shows before they left for the international leg of the big tour.  
“So I can get teenager sweat on me in a crowd? Maybe even punched in the face?” was my reply when he invited me.   
“So you can see us live in a setting in which we thrive,” was his answer. “Unintentional rhyming,” was the message that followed immediately after the first. I remember smiling at my phone like an idiot while Jemma and I sat around while watching old sitcom reruns.   
“Is that thin boy talking to you?”  
“Thin boy?” Her question made me laugh.  
“Yes, thin boy. He needs to try my protein shake.” I cackled.  
“If you’re talking about the thinner guy from the wedding, then, yes, he’s talking to me.”  
“I saw him drop you off last night.” I had no idea a statement could make me freeze that quickly. When I looked at her, her expression was a little cheeky.  
“Don’t snog in cars, Jemma, you aren’t a teenager.” We both laughed but I continued to feel awkward. 

Today, a day after the ‘thin boy’ conversation and the invite to a bar show, I receive another invitation from Mikey.   
This invitation comes at a little more reasonable of a time, one in the afternoon but still leaves me with little time to prepare (both mentally and physically) for the rest of the day.  
“Wanna come over after my plane lands?” The way I read this, it had a sexual subtext. However, I read too far into things far too much.   
“I’m not sucking you off,” states my reply. ¬  
“What?” was his immediate reply. He decides to call me after this.   
Before I can even say hello, he cuts me off.  
“I hope you aren’t being serious.” I start to speak but he cuts me off again. “I’m really pent up after all of these flights back and forth.” After a swallow or two, and trying really hard not to cackle, I manage to think of a response to that. The idea of putting…you know what, never you mind.  
“Sorry, love, but I can’t really do that at the moment. Gag reflex is a bit too sensitive for cock.”  
“Okay, woah, a little too much all at once here.” My flirty laugh rears its ugly head. The sound is comparable to the airy, ignorant laugh of a Disney princess or a horse, depending on the situation.   
“Sex jokes are my cuppa tea, Michael. Don’t start what you can’t finish.”  
“Oh, believe me, Stella, I can finish it.” The warm feeling that curls up in my core makes my blood rush. His tone was far too sexual for it to be a joke anymore. Whispered words are my kryptonite. The use of my nickname made it far worse.   
I now know what a waterfall feels like. Of course, if waterfalls could, in fact, feel, that would make much more sense. After clearing my throat, and my thoughts, I decide to pull conversation back on track.  
“I wasn’t expecting an invitation to your home.”  
“Geoff and Milly are staying here for an extra day. They want to do more shopping.”  
“Tell them to shop online. It’s much easier.” He chuckles quietly, making me grin.  
“And they deliver right to your door! Nah, they have a few specialty stores they like to hit while they’re here that I don’t really care about. Plus, I don’t like it here. I’d rather be in cold, dismal Jersey.”   
“Not a fan of the smog, then? I didn’t like the people. They look at fat folks differently.” He starts to speak then pauses.   
“That’s bullshit.”  
“What’s bullshit?” If he says the wrong word here, I could be very annoyed with him. The pause, silent buzz coming from the other end starts to make my ears ring.  
“No matter what I say, I’ll probably be wrong. So, instead, I’ll just say that you’re beautiful.” I hate the fact that I’m blushing.  
“I’ll give you a pass this time, Mikey, but you only get this one. Flattery does work on me, you remembered.”   
“Of course.” He pauses for a moment. “So, you’ll come over? We can have Chinese take-out and watch a bad movie.”  
“As long as I can wear some jogging bottoms. No bloody dresses for me today.” The sound I hear is similar to a scoff.  
“You can wear or not wear whatever you want. I don’t care.”  
“As long as you can see me, right?” Teasing is the obvious tone here, bordering on the edge of cocky.  
“Yeah, actually.” My Disney princess laugh happens again. Once I realize it happens, I roll my eyes at myself.  
“Aw, you miss me.”  
“Shut your mouth. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.” With that, he hangs up. Feeling offended by being hung up on just slightly outweighs the weird, awkward happiness I feel from being missed by him.

The decision to go without makeup (a full face of it, anyways) was a hard one to make. If Michael wants to miss me, he can miss my terribly large pores and acne scars too. While I originally wanted to wear jogging pants, I opted for comfortable jeans, a basic t-shirt and my ‘comfortable’ shoes, being my red creepers. If you want to nail a style, at least have some basic parts of it in every outfit. Weirdo seems to be the best way to describe my style and these shoes do no harm in swaying that.

I manage to keep myself busy with some tasks that Jemma gave me earlier on in the week. I remember her saying something about since I’m not doing anything anyway, I shouldn’t mind cleaning up around the house. I do not mind, but I’d rather not be treated like some stow away maid. Plus, the tasks I was “given” aren’t really “cleaning” tasks. They are more like sorting things and putting them into boxes. If I were a stupid person, I wouldn’t question this. However, I do have a marble or two left in the old noggin. I think Jemma is planning on moving. She, nor my father, have said a word to me about this. I call and check in with dad about once a week. Not one conversation has been about my grandmother deciding to up and move in with her beau.   
Perhaps I’ll have to initiate that conversation myself.

The six-hour wait I had between phone calls gave my anxiety enough time to make every negative thought roll through my head. By the time he did call me, I felt so angry with myself for everything. Everything including all of my poor decisions about relationships (and the fear that comes with “starting up” anything new), what I’ve done with my life so far and the poor choices I’ve made concerning my health or diet…so, yeah, everything.  
“Hey, Estelle. I’m out of the terminal. I left my car at the airport, so it’ll take me about twenty, thirty minutes to get to your place.” Doubt ran through my veins. The doubt made my stomach twist into knots. I feel as though I could vomit.  
“Okay, Michael.” My words sound pitiful.   
“What’s wrong?” I hear a car door close. He must have gotten through baggage claim quickly enough.   
“Nothing.” My pitiful tone and quick answer seems to make him even more curious.  
“Seeing as how you are unintentionally very open with your emotions, you don’t sound like nothing is wrong.”  
“I’m fine. The faster you get here, the faster I get lo mein. I think my hunger is making me off.”  
“I’ll call them, then, so we don’t have to wait.”   
“How domestic.”  
“I’d rather not sit around and wait for noodles with a grumpy ginger.”   
“Grumpy or starving, you take your pick.” He chuckles quietly. “Knock when you get here? Jemma has me sorting out her flatware.”   
“Can do. See you soon.”  
“’Course.”   
Ultimately, I ignore the box of forks and knives and hover around the front door with my coat already on.   
I keep my bag ready with things I might need that night, so toothbrush, hair brush, perfume, deodorant, extra pair of knickers, that sort of business.  
My handbag is so large, there’s probably an entire first aid kit in it (without me knowing where it is or how to find it).   
The awkward, uncomfortable, nervous gurgling from my guts is drowned out by the knock at the door. I gasp at the sound, jumping slightly.   
My pulse speeds up as I open the door.   
Michael Day stands there in all of his pale, spindly glory. His hair, which looks a bit longer than it did when I first met him, is a tousled brown mess atop his head. The dark circles that are usually under his eyes are far darker than normal.   
“Hi,” he mumbles at me with a smile. I return the smile, still eyeing him carefully. His frumpy, large jacket doesn’t distract me from the terribly tight pants he wears.  
“You wore skinny jeans on a plane? You’re mad.” He laughs quietly, looking down at his feet.   
“It’s all I packed. I don’t keep pajama pants with cartoon characters on them with me at all times like you do.”   
“Excuse me, sir, but I am the epitome of high fashion in my Looney Tunes jimjams, thanks.” His laugh is a little louder this time. I’m only slightly embarrassed that he noticed and remembers my pajamas from the first time he came to my home.   
“Can I use your bathroom before we go? Didn’t want to wait in line at the airport.”   
“Sure, come in.” As I move to let him in, he scurries past me. “It’s down the hall, on the right.”   
“Thanks,” he calls out.   
I stand and wait by the front door for nearly ten minutes before deciding to go back and check on him. I expected the bathroom door to be closed, light shining through the cracks around it. However, it was a different door that was open and the light was shining down the dark hallway, my bedroom door.  
No one, other than Jemma and myself, had been in that room for ten years. Before that, it had just been me, and Ezra of course but she’s my person (hetero life mate). She can go anywhere in my life and I don’t mind.   
To me, that room had become some sacred space filled with stupid memories, dumb art and my dead dreams. You wouldn’t know it, lookin’ at me, but I used to have aspirations. That room is my tell, my one obvious sign of what I used to be.  
Then, life happened the way that it did…and I’m a completely different person now.  
Plus, getting to be over the age of twenty has some huge role to play in all of that.   
I quickly approach the doorway, clutching my handbag with white knuckles.   
“uh, Mikey? This isn’t the loo.” He stood a few steps into the room, hands hanging by his sides and his head tilted up like he was staring at the walls.   
The walls of this room were a light blue/ash grey, covered in black permanent marker. My style was rough when I was a teenager, but I quite enjoyed doodling anywhere I could. Seeing as how I went to Uni for graphic design, it’s something I’ve enjoyed and wanted to do for a living for a long time.  
That didn’t really happen, though. Obviously.   
His gaze settles on the rather large set of words I had written on my wall above my bed.   
“Remember Me?” I have to pry my lip out of my teeth before I can answer. As I clear my throat, he turns around to face me.   
“When my parents told me we were moving…I had a very rough time handling it.” The frown on his face mixes with confusion. “It took a lot to not try anything terribly ignorant. Ezra had to talk me down, and, ya know…slap me one good time.” He awkwardly chuckles. “No, really, she full on slapped me.” I offered a smile, trying to break the awkward mood that had settled in the room.  
“You drew all of this?” I nod, looking around some. “You’re pretty good.” My blush overcomes my face.   
“Well, it’s what I went to Uni for.” I turn around, walking out of the room, hoping he gets the hint. Michael is a smart one, usually catching on to nonverbals.   
“I didn’t know you went to college…Oh, sorry, University.” My soft chuckle brings the same out of him. “Also, sorry, picked the wrong door on the right.” I shrug, turning around slightly. He offers a strange nod before moving to the loo. The bathroom, the very obvious room next to mine, was fully visible in the hallway because the door was wide open.   
Ignoring the invasion of privacy, I move to the living room.  
I wait by the door for him. Takes less than two minutes. Our walk outside is awkward, but he trips on the stairs, so that helps. How he tripped going down the stairs confuses me but, at the same time, makes me giggle manically on the inside. His car looks a little more lived in than the last time I rode in it. However, it’s not anywhere near as terrible as mum’s or dad’s. They’re fucking pigs. No respect for their own property.   
“Sorry about the mess.” He and I get in at the same time.  
“Mess? Really? My mum’s Lex is always super grotty. You’re good, love.” He puts his keys in the ignition, giving me a look.   
“Uh…” Slang barriers. Must remember that. I think Ezra usually just guesses or assumes what I mean and moves on while Mikey full on stops. At least he’s interested in an explanation.   
“Her Lexis is usually quite grotesque.”  
“She drives herself places?” His grin keeps me from swatting at him. He turns to face me as I speak. My heart races at the attention.   
“Usually! Prat. I had a driver because I couldn’t legally drive.” His laugh is a little too loud. I’m beginning to believe that blood just pools in my face whenever I’m around Michael.  
“You’re a 24 year old without a driver’s license but rich enough to afford a butler and a driver.”  
“Excuse you, sir, but my butler and driver were the same person.”  
“Oh, too poor for both. I see.” I swat him, then, as he pulls out onto the street.   
“You are an arse.” He cackles. “Buster was practically my nanny growing up. Like a paid grandfather.”  
“That’s terribly sad…”He pauses, glancing over at me with some sort of smug expression set on his face. “Is he your Alfred?”  
“He, on several occasions, informed me of my bad decisions and held my hair out of my face as I vomited.”   
“Sounds like a lovely man.”  
“He is!” My glare in Michael’s direction did not have enough power to keep him from grinning. I try my best to keep up the façade of anger but I’m easily distracted by music.  
“I haven’t heard Blink in ages.” My words come out in a mumble as I stare at the radio.  
“Yeah? I saw ‘em live recently.”  
“You’re a massive arse.” He laughs again. It sends goosepimples over my arms.   
“I actually made…Uh…you know what? Never mind.” I am surprised at how quickly I turn in my seat to face him.  
“I’m sorry? What was that?” The winter dusk over the highway was his backdrop. His blush was somewhat hidden in the basking evening sunlight.   
“I made this CD with you in mind, if you’re really that interested, damn.” Confused, I try to follow a logical line of questioning.  
“You made a CD for me?”  
“No, with you in mind.”  
“What? Songs that remind you of me?”  
“I guess? Songs you might like? I knew you’d be in my car at some point.” The pause was awkward. I had no clue what to say. “I mean…your butler driver isn’t here. I’m your best bet for a ride. Also, gotta have some way to force my music down your throat.” My scoff eases the tension around his eyes and in his arms. Adjusting my position, I stare out at the cars in front of us. A calm silence settles between us for just a moment as the cars move around us.  
“What’s the name of the Asian place?”  
“China King…Why?”  
“Always judge a buffet by their name.”

The apartment I was expecting was not their place.  
For some odd reason, I expected a shite five-story apartment building made of brick and grime. However, their place was an old house turned into a duplex on the outskirts of the city. As we pulled up, Michael explained that they lived in their parents house, he and Geoff, until Geoff and Milly became a ‘real life thing.’  
“How did that even happen? Were they just idiots? Was she star struck?”  
“Oh, for sure. She was so nervous around all of us the first time we met her. Fuckin’…She knew all of our birthdays.”  
When Geoff and Milly moved, Mikey got Geoff’s old room in the basement of their parents’ house. He felt awkward trying to live in that room, and just living in his parents’ house without Geoff.   
Milly found this place and suggested that Mikey move into one side while they live in the other.   
He spends most of his time on their side, watching movies with Geoff or playing test subject, eating the ‘weird’ things that Milly cooks.  
So, he’s rarely alone…ever.  
He would have hated my childhood.   
His side of the duplex is barely decorated. A stupid Gold record plaque on one wall, a moon man on a shelf.   
“I thought these sorts of things go in closets.” He laughed.  
“We earned it. I have ‘em because all of the guys have clusterfucks they call houses. I’ve got the space.”  
His furniture looks expensive but barely used. Leather love seat and armchairs around a glass top coffee table made out of stainless and dark stained wood.   
He has a rug…a fucking rug.  
I bet he vacuums and feels silly while doing it.   
His kitchen, where we end up eating, is older but looks more lived in than his living room. Trash here or there, dirty cups in the sink and the smell of coffee. He has a shelf devoted to liquid flavor syrups you can put in drinks.   
Michael Day, barista at large.   
He ordered chicken lo mein for me and some weird soup for himself.   
As I eat out of my box with a fork, he sips his soup from his spoon.   
Being unable to listen to slurping for longer than a minute, I decide to break our eating quietness.  
“When was the last time you were completely alone?” The question threw him a little.  
“Honestly, it’s probably been about a year.”  
“Ha! Really?” He nods, able to take a sip of his soup without it burning his mouth. No slurping. Noodles slide up my chin as I shovel them into my mouth, leaving a greasy trail. The back of my hand makes for the perfect napkin.   
“Yeah, now that I think about it…Probably longer. When you’re on tour, you’re always with someone, around someone, near people. It’s hard to find a quiet minute.” As he speaks, I nod, not having any clue what that experience is like. “Why do you ask?” I try to keep my shrug as nonchalant as possible.   
“Because you asked me to come over. Geoff and Milly aren’t here.” One of his eyebrows raise, leaving me to think that he’s nearly mocking me.  
“I could have gone to Casa Isle.” My eyes roll involuntarily but it was justified.  
“You barely decorated your own place. Why would you want to go talk about interior design with newly weds?” He smirks, drinking more of his soup. The color was similar to melted butter. “That’s not me poking at you because you missed me or anythin’, it was just me having a little think.”  
“Yeah, yeah.” My Disney princess giggle tries to rear it’s ugly head but I bash it down where it belongs.   
I decide to not open up discussion on his loneliness and finish up my meal.

Letting Michael pick the movie might have been a bad idea but Stephen King can’t be all bad, can it?

It can.  
When an ATM calls someone an ‘asshole’ in the first five minutes of the film, you know the direction it’s going in.  
Also, there’s an Estevez in this movie. Part of me is happy with this brother and the other part of me wishes it were Charlie. 

At some point during a second movie, because we didn’t realize what time it was, I fall asleep. Michael snoring wakes me up.  
I had fallen asleep while curled up next to him on his loveseat.   
His arm had ended up around me, my torso; his hand had settled on my hip. My head had settled on his shoulder.   
I am terribly surprised there isn’t drool on his shirt.   
I am also terribly surprised that it’s 2:14 A.M. and snow had begun to fall at some point in the evening.   
Waking up Mikey proved to be pretty easy, all I had to do was prod at him a little and make hissing noises that sound only slightly like his name. 

“I don’t think my tires are good enough to make it through that slush crap, Stella. I’m sorry.”   
“Oh, no, it’s fine…I just…”  
“What?”  
“I guess we’re having a slumber party.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah…”  
“I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”  
“No, I don’t mind.”  
“What? Why would I make you sleep on the couch? Am I some sort of asshole?”  
“No! I’m not saying that! I just…”  
“You know…we can both just sleep in the bed.”  
“Mikey, I like you but…”  
“No, just sleeping in the same space. What makes it any more different than what was just happening on the couch?”  
“That was unintentional, but fine. I’m not going to argue. I’m too tired.”  
“Agreed.”  
“Do you have any jogging pants that are bit too big for you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the slang could be off here or there but eh.


	10. Chapter 10

Trying to share a bed with a skinny boy while wearing his ill fitting jogging bottoms and the most uncomfortable bra was a terrible experience.   
“Why do you keep wiggling around like that?”  
“Just trying to get comfortable.”   
“You can take your bra off, you know. I’m not going to fondle you in the night like a sexual harassment ninja.” He was being mostly serious; I laughed for a solid three minutes.   
“No one wants a boob in their face in the middle of the night. These things have a mind of their own.”  
“I wouldn’t mind waking up to a boob in my face…or two boobs, even.” He sighed longingly as he stared up at the ceiling. “That would be nice.” My cackling continued. 

Honestly, I don’t remember when he put his arm around me but I didn’t fuss. In fact, I got as close as I could to him.   
It had been a long time since I slept in the same bed with someone who I didn’t mind sharing a bed with.   
His bedroom smelled like him and candles. There are those candles that come in the “manly” scents that always make me laugh when I look at them in the shops. This aroma was sandwood-esk. Of course, that could be a cologne smell. I never know with men’s smells.   
While I enjoy when a guy smells delicious, I have a hard time picking out individual smells from others. 

I am not surprised to wake up next to Michael day the following morning. I am surprised when I go to the kitchen for a glass of water and meet one Milly Day. She has a few bags scattered around on his countertops. When she turns around, she starts to say his name.   
Her cheeks were far redder than mine.   
"Morning, Milly."   
"Uh, hey, Estelle. Good morning." She pauses. "Wasn't expecting to see you here." Her awkward laugh makes me grin. She needs to get comfortable around me sooner rather than later.   
"Honest, I wasn't expecting to be here this morning either. When did you guys get back in?" She watches me as I move across the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the proper cabinet and filling it up from the tap.   
"An hour ago. Geoff passed out but I got some stuff for Mikey that I thought he'd like. Oh! Like these!" She jumped to the bags, digging through one furiously.  
"These are vintage, ‘83. I had to talk the clerk down, though because he was really fucking proud of them." They were yellow lens aviator sunglasses in excellent condition.   
"I hate shop keepers who have their knickers in a wad. These are great for him, suit him." She beams a smile at me. It's in this moment when she actually looks at me. My probably smeared eye makeup, my clothes (which happen to belong to Michael) and my unruly hair.  
"Are, uh, you two..." She makes a hand gesture, putting two fingers together, to symbolize us being a couple. I shake my head.  
"We were hanging out and got snowed in." She nods, making the 'oh' realization sound along with it. "He loaned me some pants. That denim is a horror show to sleep in." She cackles. The floor creaks behind me, causing Milly's gaze to flick over.   
"Good morning, sleepyhead!" I turn around, my eyes landing upon a mess of a man. His hair was an utter disaster. At some point, I believe, I got my hands in it.   
When our eyes meet, he offers me the most utterly sheepish smile I've ever seen. I'm not sure if he realizes his knob had decided to nestle between my cheeks in the evening while he tried to hold me. However, this smile tells me yes, he did.   
"Morning, Mister Day." His cheeks turn a rosey pink.   
"Morning. How'd you sleep?" He moves from the doorway to the sink, picking up a mug from inside.   
“Alright, I ‘spose.” For a moment, I forget that Milly’s in the room with us. My eyes find their way to her face, her grin makes my blood rush to my face. He rinses out the mug in the sink before moving over to his coffee maker. “You?” He shrugs, pouring coffee from last night into his cup. His sluggish movements from one side of the counter to the other make me want to run over and move everything for him. As the door of the microwave opens and closes, Milly moves to Mikey to hand him the sunglasses she had just shown me. The one minute countdown begins as he looks down at her hands.   
“Oh shit! Yellow lenses!” Milly beams a smile at him, her head flapping with excitement.  
“They’re ’83. The guy wanted a stupid amount for them but Geoff and I managed to talk him down a good bit.” As Mikey inspects the glasses, a smile grows on his face. His free arm wraps around her shoulders, giving her an awkward side hug.   
“These are great, Mil, thank you.” The microwave beeps loudly, making me jump. All of Mikey’s attention then shifts to the stale, now boiling hot coffee in his hands. After the awkward silence I feel settling over us, I opt to go change.  
“I’ll be back in a minute. Gonna go change.” They both nod, Mikey smiling at me from behind his mug.   
The stairs up to his room creak especially loud on this walk up. The carpet can only dull so much.

Pulling up my pants seems so hard with my new headache pounding in my temples. A feeling of anxiety rushes over me.   
What if Milly is scolding him for this?  
What if I had terrible night gas?

I scurry for my phone.  
It rings twice.  
“Hello?”  
“Jemma?”  
“Oh, hello darling!”  
“Can…Can you come fetch me?”  
“Of course, darling. Where are you?” Sweat. Flushed. Embarrassed.  
“At the thin boy’s house.”  
“Oh…Love…”

“Woah, where are you going?” It’s super cold outside.”  
“Jemma is popping over to pick me up.”  
“The road might not be cleared.” Hand on doorknob.  
“Where’s Milly?”  
“She went to check on Geoff.” Silent staring. My palms are drenched. “Why are you leaving? Are you okay?” My jaw locks. I hear a car outside.  
“I have to.” His brows furrow. He reaches out to touch me.   
I flinch.   
He doesn’t stop me as I open and close the door.  
Edward’s truck sits outside.  
They let me in.  
The car ride is silent.  
Jemma holds my hand. 

I talk to no one for a day.  
The following morning, I call my father.  
“Is Jemma moving?”  
“Who told you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the writing style of this changes according to her mood/my mood. I think it flows with the character I've created. She's weird like this fucking writing style.


	11. Chapter 11

I have never cried as much as I have in the last fourty-eight hours.  
The only reason I was kicked out of my parent’s house was to help my grandmother move into her beau’s ranch house.  
Her response when I asked her about it.  
“I thought you knew.” I blew up.

I blew up on my father first.

Every part of me hates both of my parents   
I want nothing to do with either of them.  
I do not hold Jemma responsible for the negligence and ignorance of her son.

She apologized profusely, throwing in that she was told I could sell the house while she gallivants around the globe with her beau.

I was kicked out of one childhood home to be kicked out of another.  
Sell the one room that holds all of my dreams.

I understand that I might be a bit irrational but if father were honest, I would have come. With hesitation, of course, but I would have helped my grandmother.

But instead, both of my parents opted to act as if I were being kicked out for my fucking sake, because I am a burden. 

My father avoided one responsibility he had as a son.

However, he decided to share something with me right before I hung up on him.  
“We’re building you a place, Estelle. Your own house.”  
“Where?”  
“On the property. They’ve already broken ground and everything.”  
“Keep it.”  
Mother tried to call me several times after. For her to think that I would give her any sort of chance is ridiculous. Why attempt to be a mother to me now when the last ten years have been nothing but cold shoulders and scolding.

Fuck them both. 

Ezra spent a night with me. I sobbed through most of it. When she had to go help Frank, it took all of me to sound normal enough to call Mikey.

I hadn’t talked to him in days.

“Hello?”  
“Hi Michael.”  
“Hey Stella.” I shiver.  
“How’s things?”  
“This are…uh…okay, I guess. You?”  
“Um…” My voice starts to crack. “They’re rough.”  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Are you busy?”  
“I was headed to practice but I can stop by if you need me to?”  
“Please.”  
“On my way.”  
“Oh, Mikey?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“For what?”  
“Isolating myself and not explaining things.”  
“I was upset and worried. So worried. But…Ez told me to calm down, breathe, and that you would call me when you were ready.”  
“When did you talk to her?”  
“This morning.”  
“Did she tell you anything?” His silence makes my ears ring.  
“Yes.”  
“Okay.” Tears begin to fall. “Let yourself in.” Hanging up feels appropriate, and it is. Not five minutes later, he walks in. He comes to me while I sit on the couch.  
The cold from his coat seeps into me but I don’t care.  
I realize that I missed his smell and I hug him tighter.  
His quiet, gentle shushing calms me.  
I kiss him. He is confused but goes along anyway.  
We kiss on my couch for at least thirty minutes.  
We both don’t realize that it had been that long.  
When his phone begins to ring, both of us jump. I watch him with tired eyes as he digs his phone out of his tight pants. His quiet conversation with, I am assuming his brother, makes me feel like I’m eavesdropping.   
“Sorry, man. Estelle called, needed my help with something.” A pause. “I didn’t realize it would take this long. She didn’t either.” He reaches out, lacing his fingers through mine. My heart jumps inside of my chest and I can’t make eye contact. “You’re already done?” As I stare at the floor, I feel worse for keeping him away from his band, his friends. “Sorry, dude! Fuck.” Another pause. He chuckles quietly. “I know, I’m useless anyway. You guys still up for dinner?” His thumb brushes gently against the back of my hand. My eyes study every wrinkle on his thumb as it moves. The headache that was there has intensified by ten.  
I regret ever asking the boy over in the first place.   
“Is it cool if Estelle comes?” I hear Geoff practically yell yes through the earpiece of the phone. “Give us fifteen and we’ll be there. Later.”

Michael’s hand brings mine to his lips. His kiss was soft and just barely damp. I couldn’t help but look at his face.   
“I missed practice.”  
“Sorry, love.” I offer a fake frown. The movement makes my face ache.  
“It’s okay, I didn’t want to go anyway.” He quickly kisses my hand again before letting it go. In one swift motion, he’s standing beside me, holding out a sweaty palm. “Up you go, sweetheart. We’re getting you out of this fucking depression pit.” My sigh is shaky. I look up to meet his gaze.  
“Do I look like I’ve been crying for two days straight?” His smile makes me melt just slightly.  
“I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say but you’re beautiful, babe.” I take his hand, then, moving from the spot where I have been rooted for hours. He walks me to my room. Mikey stands, waiting, while I move around, picking out clothes to wear.   
“Ezra told me that you get to sell the house.” My sigh is shaky once again. “I don’t…I don’t want to upset you again. I just wanted to tell you what she told me.” I nod, digging through a drawer for a shirt.  
“Jemma didn’t know I was unaware.”   
“Really? So, she didn’t question when you were weird about packing up her stuff?”  
“Not at all.” As I stand, I close the drawer with my foot. I continue to face the wall. “My father said they had plans, though. Plans for while I was away.” His silence, I assume, means that he’s waiting for me to finish. “They are building me a house on their property.”  
“What?” Swiftly, without embarrassment, I pull the shirt off that I am wearing, dropping it to the floor. I quickly put on the fresh one before turning around to face Michael.  
“I believe they kicked me out, gave me this responsibility, so they could surprise me with my own house. It wouldn’t be my own house, though. It would be a house on their land that they paid for. Forever under their thumb, their eyes, their bloody useless authority.” My foot sends half of a dirty pile of clothes across the room with a kick. My sadness starts the slow shift into anger after vocalizing my thought process. “My father thought I would be delighted, I assume. Like anything he ever did for us when we were children.” Bending down, I grab my favorite pair of pants from the floor. “Shiny new thing here, cash in hand there. Money and things always fixed his problems with us.” With one hand, I pull down my jogging bottoms. They slide down without any help from me. “So, to solve the problem of their baby girl feeling down and sad about her life,” I kick the lazy bottoms away from me and step into the denim pants, “they build her a new, shiny thing to focus on, so they no longer have to deal with her problems.” The jeans slide over my bum as I stand up straight. My eyes lock with Michael’s. “They give me my own dungeon so I can suffer in silence. I’m done with it.” I move past the quiet man to my bedside, sliding on my flats. “I’ll be here my ninety days and once those are up…I’ll figure something out.”  
“Ninety days?” His expression becomes strange.  
“I came here as a tourist, originally. No visa. I get ninety days to do touristy things. I can fill out some paperwork for an extension but…” I shrug, feeling defeated. He hugs me then, practically burrowing his head into my neck.   
“We’ll figure something out.” My arms hold him close to my body for a minute or two, soaking in the affection.   
“Thank you, Michael.”  
“No problem, Stella, at all.” He pulls away from me, giving me a gentle smile. “Let’s go eat, eh?” 

Dinner at the China King was the thing I needed the most.   
I laughed the most I have in a week. Longer than that, really.   
Geoff cracked a few good jokes on his own expense. Milly, of course, laughed right along with us. She probably laughed the loudest.  
Ray and Rae had their own conversations at one end of the table while Michael and I sat at the other.   
I’m glad that no one questions us arriving together. We only get a funny look from Ezra, who, of course, told me with her eyes “I told you so.”  
The only thing about the evening that had me in a mild sweat was the one question from Geoff.  
“What did you need help with that kept you guys so long?” On the fly, I managed to pull some sort of answer out of the air.   
“I needed help with boxes.” Hesitation. “Jemma’s moving.” No one seemed terribly interested in this fact, no one except Frank.  
“Woah, what? I thought you were supposed to move here to live with her as company or something?”  
“She’s moving in with her partner Edward.”  
“No shit!” I nod, glancing over at Mikey. His gaze is locked onto his plate of half eaten chicken and rice. “What about you?”  
“I get to sell the house then go back to Manchester like nothing ever happened.”   
“The fuck?!” Mikey looks up then, his expression strange. We stare at each other for a moment.   
“That was my father’s plan, at least. We’ll see what happens.”  
The rest of dinner went by with very few hiccups.  
Michael’s eyes never seemed to leave me after that, though.


	12. Chapter 12

Jemma schedules appointments with her attorney and her realtor in the same day a few days after the family dinner at China King.   
The meeting with her attorney, Mr. White, happens first.  
We go through the entire situation with him.   
He explains something that I was, for some completely daft reason, unaware of. I hold dual citizenship, in the UK and the States because my father is still a US citizen. I never questioned it as a kid, being able to live in both places. I have no idea why I never questioned it until now.   
I thought I would have to go through this paperwork jungle before having to deal with the house situation or even trying to live here permanently again.  
When he enlightens me, I feel the weight of one thousand suns lift off of my chest.   
I can be here, work here, live here, fuck here, drink here, BE here for the rest of my life without my parents or any of the people that I dislike.   
When I start crying, Mr. White looks very confused but offers me a box of tissues.   
Jemma thanks him sincerely. 

The meeting with the realtor, Gina Young, was a bit more of a pain.  
She acted far more chipper than necessary.   
When Jemma knocks her down a peg or two, it’s hard to not be too chuffed.  
The realtor agreed that I could handle the dealings, on behalf of Jemma, but she had to sign any paperwork because I’m not on the title.   
“You do not want to go through the hassle of adding her to the title, darling! Crazy, random taxes and a paperwork headache! Believe me, girls, it’s not worth the time!”  
If I have ever wanted to actually get into a row, a real punch-up, it would be with this berk.   
She went on to schedule coming by to look at the house, and giving Jemma inspector’s business cards.   
Jemma promised me that she would take care of the headache inducing part of the process. All I have to do is the hard work.  
Fixing up the house. Packing up her things.   
Fuckin’ painting.

Good thing I know a tall boy who would probably do anything I ask of him. 

That said tall boy called later that evening to remind me of their bar show that was happening the next day. After those plans were made, he came over. Surprisingly, he spent the evening watching rubbish telly with Jemma and I.

Today, the day of their first bar show, I feel overly anxious.  
Worried, even.  
I had dreams about the house dealings, being left in this house alone, empty, with an air mattress and nowhere to go.  
The one obvious sign of my panic attack, though, would be my clothes strewn about my room in a tornado like fashion.  
When I hear a soft knock on my bedroom door, I panic, kicking the clothes into piles around the floor.  
“Darling,” Jemma says softly while opening the door, “I hope you’re decent. The thin boy is here.” Jemma makes eye contact before looking around my room.  
Silence.   
“Goin’ out tonight. Wardrobe changes.” She nods then, leaving the door open.  
“Thanks, Jemma.” I hear his voice before seeing him step into view. My facial muscles betray me with a smile.  
“Ignore the mess!” I call out, turning around to seem busy, bending over to pick at once of the anxiety piles.  
“Hey ba-Woah.” The one loose floorboard that bothered me so much as a teenager because it would always creak as I paced, groans at Michael’s weight upon it. “How’s it going, Estelle?” His tone is cautious, concerned.   
He saw this room last night.  
It was spotless, glimmering clean even. Now, it’s wrecked.  
“Not much, mate.” As I stand, I sigh. He steps slowly towards me. My body turns to face him; he grabs my hand with gentle, soft fingers.  
“You’re a terrible liar.” His whispered words run through me. My small smile greets his. The one thing missing, however, is his glasses.   
“Oi!” Michael’s brows furrow at my outburst. Without his glasses, his face looks more angular, sharp. I could cut myself on those cheekbones. For a second, I think I say that out loud.  
His expression doesn’t change.  
Never mind.  
Our awkward stare becomes silent.   
“Are you having a mini freak out because my glasses are M.I.A.?” His expression looks almost mocking, playful but mocking. My grin gives me away. “I own contacts, Estelle. I’m a normal human being with eye problems.” I scoff.  
“I have seen you fall asleep in those spectacles, Mister Day. For all I know, you left them in the car or you had Lasik without telling me.”  
He laughs.  
“If I had a laser in my eyeball, you’d be the first one to know about it. I promise.”  
He kisses me then. Sweet and soft.  
My heart races.   
The thought, while it should have remained in my head, fell out of my mouth.  
“Are you my boyfriend?” His face, still close to mine, offers a small smile.  
“I’m whatever you want, Stella.” Goosepimples. My lips touch his again.  
“If I said I wanted you to be my gimp boy, you’d say…?”  
“Yes, Mistress.” His whispered words, while meant to be playful, perhaps even sexy, make me laugh hysterically. Luckily, he laughs along with me.   
“I’m-I’m sorry, love,” I manage to spit out between giggles, “I’m no top.” 

We ride to Mikey’s place to pick up a few things.  
As we walk in, Milly follows behind us, spewing a high-pitched “Hellooo!”  
She’s dressed in full garb for the show.   
Straps, short skirt, double layered tights and fishnets, actual lace-up corset bustier and shite kicker boots.   
Is she a fangirl or the singer’s wife?   
Both.  
An unhealthy amount of one, though.  
She tugs a bit on the hem of her top, smiling anxiously.   
"How are you guys doing?" I glance at Michael. He's eyeing her like I am.   
Judgment is strong with us.   
"We're doin', love." I reply with my best sideways grin.   
"Full getup tonight, eh, Mil?" She laughs awkwardly. Mikey turns away, moving around and fetching things.   
"Yeah! It's been a while since a small show like this. Felt like being in the thick of it." Milly fiddles with her fingers. "It's getting a little tight, though. I didn't realize I had gained weight!" Another awkward laugh, she keeps casting glances at Mikey. I believe she doesn’t know how to act around me…or us.   
Mikey moves around, digging through a few bags on the living room floor.   
"When was your first STS show?" I abbreviate the name of the band because, frankly, it's annoying to say all of the time. Milly beams a smile at me.   
"Oh God, 2002?" Her head tilts, visibly tilts, in thought. Don't groan, Estelle. "Geoff was pudgy and Mikey's head was shaved. Michelle was there." Mikey shoots up. My eyebrows furrow.   
"Frank's first wife," Mikey mumbles out. Ezra had told me about her before but I had forgotten her name. She died after falling in a forest...after having a miscarriage. Her entire life was a bit sad, now that I'm remembering it.   
"I remember her bumping into her," Milly continues to reminisce. "She was polite, sweet even. She was wearing a handmade STS shirt. Made it with sharpies!" I smile, then, at her tone. "It said something that Geoff liked to say at shows way later on." I raise an eyebrow, glancing at Mikey. He stands still, staring while she talks. "You cannot destroy me." 

"Is Rob's set gonna fit right there, though?" Frank stands, one hand on a hip, the other under curled under his chin. He stands on the floor, looking up at the stage. I stand to the side, leaning against one wall; Blackberry in hand, checking old emails and wishing I had brought a book.   
I never thought this setup process would be this bloody complicated.   
The techs and band members all hover around the stage, fiddling with this or that but mostly focusing on Frank and his desire to be close to Rob.   
From what I've heard, Frank is big on causing a fuckin' ruckus during shows. Once, Ezra told me, he nearly broke Geoff's ankle.  
How did that even come anywhere near close to happening during a set?   
Ezra sits with another tech behind the soundboard, doing her actual job. I look at her sometimes and she gives me the mirror of my expression: exasperated, annoyed and very slightly amused.  
I haven't seen Michael for nearly thirty minutes but there could be a reason for that. We're hiding our relationship still.   
For him to hover around me might give us away. While I want to be near him, I understand if he's worried about the opinions of his friends.   
"Yo!" A shout comes from the opposite side of the bar (because this is a glorified bar with a stage). Geoff walks in with a guy I don't know. They're both carrying those awful plastic 'thank you' bags you get from a convenience store. The crowd around the stage whoops quietly, moving to the two men. To avoid the talking and awkward group introductions, I keep to myself.   
This game of solitaire on my mobile really gets me going.   
There's loud, garbled cheers and movement but I ignore it.   
I only need one black eight and I can finish this st-  
"Here." I jump, looking up at the voice. Michael hands me a can of energy drink and a shot glass. My eyebrow speaks for me. "Preshow shots," he says, half chuckling.   
"Is that the best idea?"   
"Probably not but Chris is here and he demands it of us."   
"Chris?"   
"Chris Stovic, our manager. He rarely comes out to shows, so it's an occasion when he does. Have you not met hi-"   
"I don't feel up to it!" I blurt out. My cheeks flush. "Please be careful, love." I have to stop my hand from reaching out to touch him.   
"Usually am. It's not me you have to worry about." He sighs, I follow. "Plus, I have to have something to keep me from remembering I can't kiss you here." Michael Day, a man who knows how to get me to blush in seconds.   
"You could, you know. A good romp in the toilet, yeah?" He laughs, I nudge him with my elbow, winking.  
"Might have to take you up on that later." His smile melts me. "Come on, a shot! We have options."  
As we walk over to the stage, the shots crowd has thinned down. Only frank and Ray remain.   
"Hey dudes!" Frank's voice cracks. I resist the urge to laugh. "What's your poison for the evening?" I survey the bottles.   
"The bar let you lot bring these in?"   
"Yeah. The bartender knows we're bad about drinking up the booze in the place, so they finally just let us bring our own." Terrible habits.   
"Right then! What are my options?" Frank grins. I suppress a groan. Ray chuckles.  
"Okay, you got your vodka, rum, jäger, whiskey and this weird moonshine that Chris brought." Frank watches me as I eye the bottles. "I'd avoid the moonshine, though. Shit burns." He lets out this odd wheeze of a laugh. Before I can move, Mikey grabs the shot glass out of my hand.   
"I'll make the choice for you." Michael's voice sounded playful. He grabs the dark green bottle. I now understand the reason I was handed this terrible energy drink that's been freezing my hand to numbness. As I crack open the can, Michael hands me my generously filled shot glass.   
"You shouldn't have." My words come out with a strained sound to them. He chuckles, as does Frank. Frank moves to pour a shot too. He just so happens to grab one for Ray.  
We all move to stand in a circle.   
"To a good fucking show!"  
"Salud."   
The dark liquid, with its odd flavor, goes down relatively easily but is quickly followed by the burning, terribly flavored energy drink.   
If this beginning is any indicator, I might regret tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to call this a two part chapter? I don't know how chapters work. I'M TOTALLY PROFESSIONAL, OKAY?!  
>  :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while.  
> I didn't do much editing.  
> Sue me. (is that a thing I can say still?)

At some point, I get handed a tag that indicates I’m with the band.  
Ace!  
That means I can walk around the bar without people questioning who I am or my motives.  
The doors open at 7 but the guys don’t start playing until 9. It’s one of those secret show things, too. Obnoxious. 

As we sit in the green room, waiting for time to pass, we have several visitors. Milly's greasy lookin' brother stops by. Ray's lass, who is looking a bit too much like she's been in a library recently and less like she's going to watch a rock show, also stops by. They both hang out with us in this room, which can't be much bigger than my bedroom at home, four by four meters. With ten people in here, and the amount of booze, it smells like a public school gym WC.  
God-awful.  
Rob hands me a glass at some point.  
"Hey," he says with a smile. His blue eyes pierce through me but in a gentle way. I can't help but smile back at him. "I know we haven't talked much. Had a lot goin' on. How have you been adjusting?"  
"It's quite alright, sir. I understand. I've been adjusting well. It's nice to have you lot around to keep me distracted." He nods, sipping his drink.  
"That's just Coke, by the way. You looked like you needed some sort of pick me up." I tentatively took a sip, staring at his face for any reaction that might give away that he's poisoning me. "Also, when are you and Mikey coming clean?"  
I nearly have soda shoot out of my nose.  
"I'm sorry?" I manage to say after a cough or two.  
"You guys suck at hiding things. Ezra's onto it and I am too. I keep to myself, though, so I just watch and wonder." He smirks, then. It's very difficult to resist the urge to slap him on the arm.  
"What do you mean?" My playing dumb never works. The tone of my voice, also gives me away. I’ve always been a terrible liar.  
"You're all over him at Frank's and then the awkward stare downs that happen. Plus, him at your house the other day, missing practice." My expression flattens at his words.  
"Okay, Miss Gossip. You should focus on your own business." I pause for a little chuckle. "He's my friend, he's helped me adjust."  
"Yeah, okay."  
"Don't you get sassy with me, Robert. I will take this boot off." He laughs at my fake threat.  
He goes on to ask about the conversations I had with my father and Jemma about the move over and selling the house. He also offers his help in both ass beating and household improvements.  
I tell him thank you because for a man to know so little about me, he is very friendly and open.  
"I know what it's like to have to move here for the sake of other people. Plus, you're a cool chick. I don't mind helping out cool people."  
“You’re an angel in disguise, Robert.”  
“I’m not hiding, babe.”

Later on, the guys end up all filing out to go do some sort of chanting warm ups and shots. I’m assuming shots also because they take nearly every bottle of liquor in the room out with them.  
This leaves me in the green room by myself.  
You would think that I would be a pro at solitaire by now.  
“Hey!” A familiar voice scares me out of my cards. Milly’s eyeliner smeared, crooked smile face stares at mine. I return the smile, liking the look of her dirty face. The mascara has flaked onto her cheeks and her corset is missing. She had a tank top on underneath it. Smart girl. “What are you doing in here by yourself, silly?” I scoff.  
“Not much for intruding on preshow band rituals.” She laughs, moving closer to me. Her hands absentmindedly grab a bottle of water as she stares at me.  
“Me either. I got invited to go outback with some friends. You’re more than welcome to join me if you want?” I glance down at my phone. While this game of solitaire was going quite well, I think some human interaction would be okay. I shrug.  
“Might as well.” As I heave-ho myself out of the chair, she throws the now empty bottle away. “Thirsty, mate?”  
“Yeah! I don’t understand it but I can’t get enough water in me lately.” Her awkward laugh makes me feel uncomfortable. Like she’s on some in-joke that I don’t know. We walk out of the green room and through some small hallways. We reach a backdoor of the place that sits in the middle of a hallway. There’s equipment everywhere and small blue lights along the celling to give just enough light for the behind the scenes crew members.  
“Just a warning,” she says, before we walk through the door, “They’re probably smoking weed or something back here. You’re welcome to partake, if you’re into that sort of thing. I’m feeling sick, so I probably won’t. I haven’t been feeling well lately, so I need to avoid feeling queasy now, especially when it’s preventable.” Her rambling confuses me. “I mean, I usually don’t because I see what it does to Geoff and then I think about all of the other drugs he takes and it makes me feel even more sick and I just…”  
“Wait, Milly. What did you just say?”  
“What? That I see what the drugs do to Geoff?” Her brows furrow slightly.  
“Yeah. I thought you were oblivious.”  
“Really?” She sighs. “I suppose I do come across that way. I mean…” She sighs again, leaning against the wall. People walk beside us, not batting an eye. “I love that man. Wholeheartedly.” I nod, that being one of the most obvious things about her. “When he comes home at night, I have to clean him up, clean up his messes, his puke. I’m glad he cut his hair off because I’d have to wash that a few times to get the smell out.” I feel a frown starting to form on my face. “Thank God for Mikey, because I’d have no idea how to handle him by myself when he holds the razorblades to his arms and screams at me.”  
“What!?” She looks down, shame filling her features.  
“He hates that he has to rely on these drugs to feel. He knows he’s hurting us, hurting me. I’m afraid for him, for his life, for the sake of our famil-Wait, no.” She stands up straight then, her expression very odd. “You didn’t hear that, let’s go!” Her new smile is obviously a fake one, plastered on like a mask. She moves to open the door but I push it out of her hands.  
“For the sake of your family. I heard you, Milly. What do you mean?” I feel my heart being to race.  
“Nothing, you didn’t hear anything. Please…Stella.” She looks up at me then, her eyes pleading.  
“Did you drive here?” She nods. I can see the meat of her cheek in between her teeth. “Grab ya keys. We’re going to go sit in the car for a minute, alright?”  
“Why my car?”  
“No one’s gonna overhear us that way.”

“I found a half empty bottle of Ativan on our bathroom floor beside him passed out one night. I had to call EMTs to come out and take him to the hospital. Chris called everyone he could to keep it out of the news. Luckily, it was before all of this new album publicity. They were still able to go to Warped and not get attacked by girls.” She scoffs.  
“So, how can you sit back and watch him do this to himself?”  
“Honestly, and this is going to sound so dumb, but…when I’m around him…I’m just drunk with him. I love him and his eyes and that goofy fuckin’ crooked smile of his. I’m lovedrunk and oblivious. Then, I’m not around him, and I can smell his stink lingering on my clothes and I find the empty little baggies all over his car.” Her wedding band twists and twirls around on her finger.  
“You said something about your family.” Her head shoots up then, her eyes burning into me. “If it were just you two, this wouldn’t be weighing so heavily on you.” In the darkness of the car, I swear I see her face get just a little more pale. “You’re pregnant.”  
“No.” She nearly cuts me off.  
“With a response that quick, that’s a definite you’re pregnant.” Milly places her knuckles against her mouth, sighing. “When did you find out?”  
“A few days ago,” she mumbles out. Her body turns towards me in the drivers seat. “Please, please, Stella, I’m begging you. Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t know what to do yet. I don’t know if I should keep it, if I should do something else about it. Everything weighs on Geoff.”  
“I understand.”  
“I wouldn’t want my child to not have a father because if he keeps this up, he’s never going to see this baby, Stella. I will not put a baby in that kind of environment!” Her voice rises to a yell, nearly. She has been debating this for this entire week alone. I feel for her. My hand reaches over, grabbing hers gently.  
“I know we don’t know each other that well, Milly, but I want you to know, and I promise this. I will help you in any way that I can, no matter what. I’ll keep this secret. We will figure out this Geoff situation. If we can’t immediately…ya know, I’ll…go with you to doctor’s visits. Hell, I’ll buy your damn nappies.” She laugh-scoffs as the tears start to roll down her cheeks. “You are a very strong, very brave woman and I am so proud of you for all that you’re doing, Milly.” She leans in then, wrapping her arms around my neck. My hands gently pat her back. “Everything will be alright in the end.” She nods against me. As she pulls away, I offer her a smile that she may not be able to see.  
“Alright, lady! We’re going to make this a good show, okay?” She nods, half smiling. “Let’s get you to a toilet, wipe that shite off ya face and have a good fuckin’ time!”  
“Hell yeah!” She yells…a bit too loudly for the inside of a car.

After we get to a restroom, we head back to the green room. Mikey, Frank and Rob are all standing around, staring at the bags of crisps on the coffee table in the center of the room. They seem to be having a discussion about snack foods in general. Milly moves past them, to a chair on the far side of the room. She sits, staring down at her hands while mindlessly playing with her ring. I join the dudes.  
“Nah, man. Cheez-its are the better cheese cracker. Plus, the flavor variety is killer in comparison.”  
“You’re not cool enough for the Nips, man. That’s all I’m saying.”  
“So this is what famous band members do? Discuss snacks and get really drunk?” They chuckle, looking up at me.  
“Oh yeah.” Rob says, elbowing me in the side.  
“You excited for the show, Stella?” Frank smiles, gesturing at me with his cup.  
“Of course, Frank. I totally wouldn’t want to be at home right now, reading a nice book, enjoying a cuppa in the peace and quiet.” His snicker laugh makes me grin.  
“Aw, come on!” Mikey bumps my hip with his, leaving a bruise on me that I will surely see tomorrow. “You know you totally want to see me play bass.” My eyes roll in their sockets.  
“I totally want to see you all play sober but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”  
“That went out the window a long fuckin’ time ago, right guys?” Frank lifts up his cup just enough. No one responds. Rob shrugs, moving back to check on Milly.  
Frank mumbles something about going to find Chris and Geoff, leaving me with the drunken thin boy. I turn to face him, offering him a half smile. His expressions become much more dramatic when he’s intoxicated. His eyebrows look like they’re going to eat his eyes when they furrow.  
“What’s wrong?” He reaches out, sliding a gentle hand down my arm. I shake my head.  
“Nothin’, just bored with waiting. Do you do this at every show?” She shakes his head.  
“We knew Chris was comin’, so we decided to be here earlier than we normally would be.” Something clicks in his head. “You still need to meet him!” He grabs my hand then, putting his cup down on the coffee table.  
“I don’t know about that, Michael…”  
“Nah! Come on! He’s great, you’ll love him!” His words only slur a little. I let him lead me to where ever he’s leading me without fighting too much.

Michael and I end up outside, where Milly was going to take me before, I assume. We all stand in a circle. Milly’s smelly brother, Frank, Chris, Geoff, Michael, me, Ray and Rae, Ray’s lass. Milly was right, weed is getting passed around but I choose to avoid it. Chris introduced himself with a nod and a mumble I didn’t understand. When conversation in the circle goes quiet, Chris turns towards me.  
“Don’t you have a famous dad or something?”  
“Uh…Richard James.” His brows furrow. “He’s a founding member of the Outer Wing production company, sometimes works for Warner. He’s one of the main producers for those bloody fuckin’ wizard movies.”  
“OH!” He nearly yells. “You were the chick screwin’ around with Ocar-“  
“Not screwin’ around, no. Thanks.” Someone quickly steps in and dissolves the tension. Conversation ensues.  
I can’t help but notice, however, when Chris hands Geoff a small bag with a whisper.  
Looks like I’ve found Geoff’s enabler.  
I manage to pull Mikey away from the guys for a few minutes, after Ezra comes out and snags a beer from the guys. They have 30 minutes before show time, she tells them as she’s handed her drink.

As promised earlier, Michael and I have a little bit of a snog in the toilet. He tastes like alcohol.  
“Is that all you’ve had tonight? A bit of the drink?” He nods, staring at my lips.  
I pull away with his bottom lip between my teeth. “You sure?” I mumble. He nods.  
My quiet moan as he sucks on my neck gets a little chuckle out of him. I elbow him in the ribs. “We’re like fuckin’ teenagers,” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair. He nips his way up my neck and around my jawline.  
“I haven’t come in my pants yet, so I think we’re doing okay.”  
He rubs his pelvis against my hip and I resist every urge to make him do just that.  
He calms down a little, I fix his hair, and he tries to cover up my neck.  
“The club is dark anyway, I think you’ll be okay.”  
“Arsehole.” He grins, kissing my cheek. “Have a good show,” I manage to say as he slips out of the room.  
My reflection gives away that I have been kissing someone for the last fifteen minutes.  
It’s too bad that I give absolutely no fucks. 

I find Milly in the green room before heading out to the bar.  
“Hey,” I say as I walk up to the chair that she’s been sitting in for the last hour.  
“Hi.”  
“Get up.” She looks up at me, confused. “You and I are going to go enjoy this show, alright? It’s my first.” She grins, then, legitimately.  
“Then I’m the best person to watch it with!” She grabs my hand and we walk out to the crowd.  
Holy fuck, I’ve never seen this much angst in one room ever in my life.

When the house lights shut off, I know that they’re about to walk out and I hear every girly scream I ever wanted to hear in a matter of fifteen seconds.  
I should have gotten earplugs. 

Milly moves us closer to the stage. Somehow, we manage to be only two rows back from the gate that separates us from the guys. Milly is a small show magician. I should take her places more often.  
I then suddenly worry about the unborn baby in her guts but she doesn’t seem to be too phased.  
I’ll try to ignore it too.  
I will punch someone if I have to.

The guys come out, more screaming. Someone screams practically in my ear. It’s a boy. I elbow him by “accident.” His pain face makes me giggle.  
They play their first single off of their new album, a ballad.  
Everyone sings around me.  
Geoff interacts with the crowd and they eat it up. I “throw my fists” up when he asks and dance around about when everyone starts to get thrashy.  
They play two songs then they take a water break.  
“Hello, everyone! In case you were wondering, we are Sister To Sleep!” The crowd screams again. Geoff smiles, throwing his arms wide. “How are you tonight?” The teenagers scream in response. “I can’t fucking hear you, how are you tonight?!” I don’t know how it got louder but it goes octaves higher. It’s at this point where I steal at glance at Mikey. He’s pale in the harsh stage lighting. His dark hair is slicked back and his dark brows frame his pale, angular face well. Glad to see that he’s drinking water. Everyone except Ray and Frank seem to be drinking water, which is good to see. The next song starts up and the crowd shakes with their energy.  
A few songs go by, Geoff interacts with the audience well. Occasionally, he’ll rub his crotch and his face with his hands.  
I steal glances of Milly and Mikey.  
She looks very into the show.  
Michael looks sweaty but focused.  
They take a pause again, water break.  
“Now now, guys…I have a treat for you!” A few people whoop. “Rob hates me for it but I’ve gotta do it. I’ve gotta do it!” The crowd cheers. “I’ve got a friend in the audience, she’s never seen us live before! So, I’ve gotta give her the full experience!” The crowd yells louder this time. “I’m glad you all fucking agree!”  
Geoff turns around, staring at Rob. They nod at the same time.  
When Rob hits the drums, Geoff does a little, odd arm movement.  
The song they play is one I like.  
I manage to sing along with this one. The crowd jumps and I get right in the thick of it.  
The next few songs are songs that I’ve heard before that are high energy.  
The crowd and the band get a bit winded so the set starts to slow down.  
Ray slowly picks away at a few cords as the rest of the band takes a drink break.  
"Alright, guys," Geoff mumbles into the microphone, leaning on the stand he's barely used tonight, "time to slow it down a bit." I lean to Milly, who gently sways beside me.  
"We're near an end, yeah?" I ask her. She nods, looking over at me with a smile.  
"Two left, one encore. I got a special request in there." Her grin is a bit worrisome.  
"That song was about not loving somebody. This next one is about loving somebody to death. Fuck you, Mil." Milly giggles as Ray starts to play the intro cords. The crowd screams.  
"Geoff hates doin' this one live. He hates it but it's my favorite." She leans into me, mumbling in my ear.  
The song sounds like a depressing, death riddled love ballad. Of course it's one of Milly's favorite. The song ends abruptly.  
"Guys," Geoff says breathlessly, "how's the show been so far?" As he leans down on the mic stand, the crowd screams. He chuckles into his microphone. "Fan-fuckin-tastic! Glad to hear it! How's Rob been on the drums?" The crowd screams. "And Ray? He's fuckin killin' it, right?" Louder screaming. I practically have to put my fingers in my ears. "Frank? He almost got my nuts again tonight!" More girls scream this go around. I suppose he is the cute one, those fucking lip piercings. "What about my brother? Mikey's going hard on that bass, yeah?" The crowd screams, more girly screams too. I feel almost jealous. I look at Michael, then. His goofy smile is plastered on his plastered face. His hair is everywhere as he sips his water gingerly. "In case you were wondering, my name is Geoff, and we are Sister To Sleep! This has been a good one, guys." Then Ray strums twice on his guitar and a song starts. I recognize this one. It's on their new album. It's the last song, so a good song to close with.  
The crowd practically scream sings along with Geoff.  
The song has a fade end. The boys put their guitars down, leaning against the amps for a dramatic effect as they walk off of the stage. The crowd chants for more.  
The boys let the crowd chant for five minutes, at least.  
They walk back out, laughing.  
"FINE!" Geoff yells into the microphone. "One more and that's it, alright?" The screams make my body tense up. “This…This is a new one, we haven’t played it live before!” I didn’t think it was possible to be around this many screaming teenagers at once but life has a way of surprising you sometimes.  
I immediately recognize the song as it begins.  
It’s the song I connected with, the song written about me (basically, I inspired it). The song could also be inspired by a high school ten-year reunion.  
Milly and I get into it, throwing hands into the air when appropriate.  
The song ends, the boys bow and the crowd screams.  
I think this night is pretty much just screaming.  
Not bad.  
Milly and I head back to the green room as the crowd starts to thin out.  
I take two shots of vodka back to back while my ears ring.  
“God, that’s cheap.” I groan out as I slam the shot glass down. Milly laughs.  
“Of course it is. You think these guys are going to pay a lot for booze?” We share a chuckle.  
A loud series of shouting finds its way through the open door of the green room.  
A bunch of the guys file into the room, laughing loudly, nearly falling over.  
They smell of sweat, booze and smoke.  
I wish this room had better ventilation. Geoff, held up by Chris, nearly tumbles into his secretly pregnant wife.  
“How was it, baby?” He mumbles into her shoulder as she takes on his weight, happily dumped off by Chris who now stands up straight, stretching his shoulders.  
“It was a great show, love! Great job, guys, as always.” The guys offer her a nod. Looks like the only two missing are Rob and Ray. Probably helping the tech guys with the equipment.  
Michael, with his floppy hair, sways over to me, a large grin on his face.  
“What ya think?” With his boney finger, he jabs me in the shoulder. I want to slap him and complain about the ache it leaves but I figure it’s useless.  
“It was a good time, yeah.” My face can’t help but smile at him, with his alcohol flushed face and his stupid big grin.  
When did drunken men become so attractive? I’m going to assume it’s when Michael Day got very pissed and played his instrument in my face.  
Lots of strumming in front of the crotch called for lots of awkward pelvis staring. I was not and will not be the last person to stare at Michael Day’s crotch for an extended period of time. Oh, sorry, his bass strumming.  
He wraps his arm around my shoulders in an awkward side hug. Mostly, I think, it’s for support.  
“What’s the plan, then?” My question is a hushed one, seeing as how everyone is doing their own thing. Not much for an after party, I think. I don’t want a recap of the housewarming incident. The two shots from before decide to show their face then, bringing the blood to my cheeks and chest.  
Pale girl problems.  
“I think…Chris is having a party at his place? It’s in town, so not too big of a caravan.” He giggles; I scoff at him. “What are you wanting to do? Do you want to go?” The excitement in his voice makes my heart ache a little. I didn’t want to step on toes tonight but it looks like I have to. I shake my head, glancing over at him. His expression changes a little but is mostly a smile.  
“I understand. Parties with lots of fucked up people, maybe not the best.” I’m taken aback. I didn’t think he would realize my fears, especially while intoxicated himself.  
“Exactly.” His face gets terribly close to my ear. I can feel his lips on my skin. It’s all I can do to keep from twitching with a shiver.  
“I’ll just hang out with you then, my dearest.” The frown on my lips forms too quickly. My body shifts away from his so I can see his expression.  
“You do what you want, Mikey. I’m not going to keep you from your friends.” He gets his crooked smile on. I want to go back a few hours and actually slap Rob. Not because he was right but because I’m so obvious and never realized it. So much for attempting to be sneaky, us.  
“But you’re my...” He pauses to think for just a moment, “friend and I want to hang out with you.” The excuse of alcohol would not work in this situation at all.  
“Okay,” I say quietly, a small smile growing on my lips.  
“Hey!” Someone yells beside us. Oh no.  
“Hey, Geoff! Lovely time tonight!” I offer my best polite smile. At least there is some genuine feeling to it this time. His crooked smile looks like Mikey’s. At that moment, I want to punch both of them for it. I feel Milly’s pain. Speaking of Milly’s pain, I glance at her, then. She still holds an arm around Geoff’s midsection, supporting him to the best of her ability. Her eyes are strained. Instantly, I want to save her.  
Why do I have these odd motherly instincts all of the sudden?  
I hate children. I suppose I love taking care of people. I’d make a great aunt someday, maybe.  
“You think so? I was into it, man. The guys seemed to be too!” Geoff laughs, laying his head awkwardly on Milly for a moment. “I threw a few into the set that I knew you would like.” As he speaks, he nods, moving Milly’s head with his own.  
“Lots of energy. The crowd was really into it.” Michael makes me feel less awkward when he talks too. Thank Christ. Milly and I nod.  
“Oh yeah, so much energy! Stella had to elbow a kid for shouting at us, it was great.” We all awkwardly chuckle.  
“Oh!” Geoff nearly shouts. It’s a good thing I’m currently occupied physically by one Day brother. I would have elbowed the loud, more intoxicated one. “Chris is having an after party at his place! You guys are more than welcome to come!” Glancing at Milly, I know she has no interest in going but she will because she has to. Someone has to watch Geoff. My expression changes to one of fake remorse as I shake my head ‘no.’  
“Sorry, mate. I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I’ll just head home. Gotta get up early to start packing more things. Thank you, though.” He gives me a small smile.  
“Yeah, me too. I’m gonna help her with packing tomorrow. She asked me.” Michael squeezes my shoulder that he’s been holding on to. My heart races a bit too much. He’s not even trying anymore, is he?  
“Oh, boo. But I understand.” Milly frowns, which is legitimate. She needed someone tonight and I feel terrible that I’m not going now.  
I cannot and will not ever tell her about the housewarming party.  
My back starts to complain so I stand up straight, nearly throwing Michael’s arm off of my body.  
“I think I might head out, then. Call a cab. Wanna share one, Mikey?” I see him nod out of the corner of my eye.  
“Okay, be safe, guys! I’ll see you tomorrow, Mikey! Thanks for hanging out with me tonight, Stella.”  
“Of course, Milly. Would not have had it any other way.” My smile is legitimate.  
“Night guys!” Geoff nearly yells, almost falling over. I have to hide my sigh. The happy, lovedrunk couple walks off, leaving me with the other drunken Day brother to deal with. I turn to face him, knocking his arm off of my shoulders. He’s having a hard time standing by himself.  
Oh, please be with me patience.  
“Do you need anything before we head out, darling?” He shakes his head, his eyes closed. There is a part of me that wants to frisk him to make sure he has his things. However, I have no idea what he would be missing or not missing if I did.  
Because of the recent outpouring of people from the bar, there are cabs idling near by.  
It doesn’t take long to dump Michael into the back seat. He gives the cabbie his address and we ride along.  
At some point in the ride, he lays his head on my shoulder. Drunken boy mumbles are not as cute as one might believe.  
We turn down a road I recognize; I tap Mikey’s knee roughly.  
“We’re nearly there, love.” He shoots up awkwardly. Was he asleep?  
“Oh, okay.” His hands fumble around his pockets. When his hands go over his pockets the third time, my panic attack is being only kept at bay by the voice of the cabbie.  
“We’re here, guys.” Mikey’s face shoots up, staring at me. I try not to visibly sigh.  
“Change of plans, sir. Sorry ‘bout that. Someone forgot their keys.” The cabbie laughs.  
I begrudgingly give him my address.  
I tipped the cabbie extra for dealing with us. 

Michael stumbles up the stairs to my front door in front of me. He nearly falls on me as I try to unlock the door.  
“Oops!” He exclaims in a very odd tone. I scoff as I gently push him inside.  
“Don’t be the drunk white girl of this after party, Michael.” He cackles, leaning on the couch once he reaches it.  
“I am, though.” As he speaks, he’s nearly giggling. Lord. Once I get the door closed and locked, I wrap my arm around his waist.  
“Come now, love. Let’s get you settled.” He mumbles something as I basically drag him to my bedroom. Michael puts up no fight as I sit him down on the bed. Eyes burn in to the back of my head as I untie his shoes and slip them off of his feet. “I’ll be right back.” He nods as I move to the kitchen, grabbing him a glass of water and the bottle of aspirin.  
Michael, being the beauty that he is, has his jacket and button up off when I return. His spine is visible through his plain white undershirt. It still might be a bit sweaty. The regrets I feel for having this smelly, drunk man in my bed start to find their way through my concern and feelings.  
Shaking my head, I place the glass of water and bottle of pills on the bedside table.  
“Alright, Michael. You know where the toilet is, uh…” His head turns to face me, then. The glasses that rest on his face are so crooked that I have to choke back a little chuckle.  
“Where are you going?”  
“To bed,” I say with a shrug.  
“You’re not staying with me?” I quietly sigh, having expected this question. It’s hard to think around my racing heart. My head shakes and he frowns. “Why not?” Drunken whiney Mikey voice annoys me just a touch.  
“I’m not sure it’s the best idea, Michael.” His frown deepens.  
“Where will you sleep?”  
“On the sofa.” His head shakes with his exaggerated frown.  
“No, you stay with me.” My sigh is a quiet one. “Please?” When our eyes meet, I am defeated. After flipping off the light, I slowly move to the other side of the bed. My boots come off in two swift movements. I don’t bother with taking off my jacket or socks. My entire body feels like once tense, awkward mummy.  
“Sleep good, Stella.” Michael mumbles at me.  
I’m expecting hands on me in places I don’t want them. I’m expecting to have uncomfortable kisses on my neck. I’m expecting being asked to take off my clothes.  
However, within twenty seconds, Mikey is asleep. My hands practically in his face tell me so.  
The shaking sigh of relief was the best I’ve ever had.  
There isn’t much about this night that I regret. I wish I had played MORE solitaire, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested in the set, I built a playlist! (YOU OBVIOUSLY KNOW WHO THIS IS BASED OFF OF AND IF YOU DON'T, WHAT?)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT TOOK A WHILE, OKAY? DEPRESSION SUCKS.  
> I like it. I hope you do too.

The sound of banging wakes me. Drool is crusted on my face, my hair is probably a wreck and I am wearing everything I came home in except for my shoes. Michael is dead to the world when I look at him.   
“Coming!” I yell, sliding around the corner of the hallway into the living room.   
Looking through the viewfinder, I see one Milly Day, staring at the door with wild eyes.   
With a sigh, I unlatch all of the locks that I managed to lock last night and swing the door open wide.  
“Milly! Good morning! All right?” Her smile is one that is, what I am assuming, fake due to the fact that she’s clutching a phone in one hand and…another phone in the other. One of these I slightly recognize.   
Looks like Mikey’s.   
“I’m great! Have you seen Mikey?” Her words are rushed and thrown out of her mouth in a worried garble. With a gesture, I move to let her inside. She comes in, moving to place her purse and the two mobiles on the coffee table. “Is he okay? Did you guys get here okay last night? Do you need any money? Does Mikey owe you any?” I shush her very quietly, throwing a hand up as to wave off her concerns.   
“No, you’re fine, he’s fine. He didn’t realize he was without keys until we pulled up to your place but we got here in one piece, no worries, love.” She smiles, the tension in her body melting some. “He’s in bed still. Your bangin’ just woke me up. He was far more gone than I so I’m not sure when he’s going to be up and around.” She nods. I notice that her fingers are very oddly twiddling in front of her.  
“Can…can we talk about last night?”  
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”   
I take this opportunity to discuss with her the conditions of her pregnancy and her plan of action if Geoff can’t clean himself up.   
Milly is very much so an avoid confrontation and any sort of argument type of gal and I’m a bit too much like that myself so she and I connect a bit more now than I thought. She decides that she’s going to keep all of this between us for now until she finds out for sure from the doctor next week. She asks me to go with her to the appointment, which I, of course, agree to. When I look at the clock again, Milly’s been here for nearly fourty-five minutes. I tell her I’m going to check on Michael.  
When I walk into my bedroom, he’s sitting up on the bed, his legs are crossed and his face is resting in his hands.   
“Oh hello,” I say quietly, knowing that he probably has a headache.  
“I just…”His hands muddle his voice, making half of his sentence incomprehensible.  
“I’m sorry, what?” When he doesn’t look up, or move at all, I move to sit next to him on the bed. “What’s wrong, Michael?” My words come out at a whisper without me wanting them to. His hands fall but he doesn’t look up.  
“I just heard your entire conversation with Milly.” 

I had to force Michael to stay in the room while I got his keys and phone from Milly. I convinced her to go home, that we would talk later. The promise to send Mikey home at a decent time sounded odd to give to a sister-in-law.   
They have a full day in New York City tomorrow, however, so I understand why he would need sleep.   
After I practically force Milly out of the house, I have to console Mikey. I have never seen a man pace so much in my life.   
“What the fuck are we going to do, Stella? We can’t have that baby born with it’s dad the way he is. We can’t…” He trails off, pausing in front of me as I sit on the bed. I don’t bother looking up from my straight-ahead staring. His hip-bones are visible through his white t-shirt. Every part of me wants to tell him to gain some weight. Doesn’t seem appropriate in this context, however.   
“We’ll figure it out, love.” My mumble didn’t seem very convincing.  
“We have to tell Geoff.” The stiffness I feel in my spine causes me to shoot up straight, my eyes darting to his face.  
“You’re kidding.”  
“No, we need to tell him.”  
“This is not, in any way, form or fashion, our information to share with your dear brother. You do realize that, right?”  
“You think keeping this a secret from him is a good thing?” I stand then, grabbing one of his hands in mine.  
“I think his wife, the woman he made pregnant, should share the information…when she’s ready and when she actually knows, for certain.” He sighs, looking away from me. The eyeliner from last night making his dark circles even more pronounced. This, I believe, is when he concedes.   
“You’re usually right, you know.” I scoff at his response. “So wise in your few years, Estelle.”  
“Thanks. Makes me sound like my gran.” His smile is the first one I’ve seen all day. Thank Christ it’s adorable or else I would have a little cry.  
"I think I might take a shower, if that's okay?" I realize then that we both smell off. We did spend all night in a bar surrounded by smokers and booze.   
"Of course, love. You know where it is. Edward has a few toiletries stashed under the sink, you're welcome to them." When I smile at him, his expression changes. The only way I can describe it would be a deviant look.   
"You can, uh…join me if you want." My throat instantly becomes the Sahara. Trying to swallow my nervous heart back down my incredibly dry throat almost makes me gag. His brows shift into concern. "It was a joke, Stella.” He chuckles awkwardly. I feel my shoulders relax with. “I’m too hungover to be any good, especially in a shower.” I think my eyebrows reach my hairline.   
“I haven’t had…You know what, never mind. Go bathe.” He chuckles again, leaning in to give me a quick kiss before heading into the bathroom.  
I hear the water begin to run from the showerhead when I grab my phone. There are five missed calls from a number I somewhat recognize. Glancing at the time on my phone, it’s half past two in the afternoon. The last missed call was over an hour ago. It’s an international number.  
There is a very small part of me that is terribly afraid of this being my mother.  
When it begins to ring, I feel my palms sweat. When I hear his voice, though, I miss home for the first time since being here.  
Buster.  
Buster was the man who raised my brother and I. In his early 60s now, he is very much so like a grandfather to me. I don’t know either of my biological grandfathers, so this works out in the end. I introduce him as such to other people. He drove me around, went to any school functions where parents would attend and would very often be the voice of reason when I had none myself.   
There was the time he found me in the bathroom vomiting up half of a bottle of Jameson after my mother forced me to attend a public school instead of the state-funded school that had all of my friends. Those were hard to come by being a half-American, completely new to everyone, and coming into the system at 17. 

“Love, you know about the house?”  
“That they built for me?”  
“Yes, love, that. Are you going to come home?” He sounds concerned. Buster, Oliver and my gran would be the only reasons for coming home but maybe they’re not even enough.  
“Probably not. Do you know what they told me? What they did to me?” He sighs. I can picture him nodding with a frown.  
“I do. After the fact, though.” We go awkwardly silent for a moment or two. “I’m sorry, Estelle. If I would have known, I would have forewarned you.”  
“I know you would have. Mum and Dad are the ones to blame here, no one else. They’re getting what they asked for.”  
“They just wanted you to be happy, love.”  
“Yeah, happy with my things and being alone and having a man who’s paid to take care of me as my support system.”   
“They don’t know any better.” He sounds almost defeated. I’m starting to wonder if someone put him up to this phone call.  
“Then they shouldn’t have had children. I don’t have enough money to pay for the call, Buster. I’m sorry. I’ll try and write you an email or something.”   
“O-Okay, dear. Do please keep in touch.”  
“Of course.”

My feet dangle off of the side of my bed as I wrap my head around the little bits of information I received in the phone call. I do believe that my conclusion that anything from home will just immediately upset me. Maybe I should contact my mobile service provider and see if I can have international calls blocked.   
Maybe that’s a bit harsh. Definitely is.   
I do believe that I’m to the point now where I don’t care if it is or not.  
When Michael walks into the room, I don’t move. He sits beside me on my bed, looking at my face.  
“What’s wrong?” My mind shuffles through my immediate concerns: my makeup is ruined and all over my face, my hair is an utter wreck, I probably smell like a bad one night stand, I hate the fact that I feel like my mother probably put him up to that because it’s been a month and he is just now trying to contact me, I hate my parents, I hate that I’m an adult and this is all just a big game to them, did I brush my teeth last night? “Estelle?” I look up at him then, my tongue running over my plaque covered teeth. That’s a negative on the oral cleaning.   
“My nanny called.” Mikey’s expression changes to one of confusion.   
“Buster?” I nod.   
“I think my mum put him up to it.”  
“Why’s that?” The towel he has in his hands goes over his hair once more, attempting to dry it. His smell hits me then and I actually look at him. Shirtless, sockless and, I think, freeballing. Never have I ever wanted to lick this man more than now. It’s emotional trauma, I know, but why must you tempt me so, Lord? Oh, he asked a question.  
“It was how he worded things. ‘Do you know about the house? They want you to be happy, they don’t know any better, blah.’ Rubbish.” He places a gentle hand on my thigh, rubbing his thumb over my jeans.  
“I’m sure he means well.” I nod, shrugging.  
“Sure, he can mean well. He can mean any bloody thing he wants to mean but for fucks sake, try not to be so obvious.” Michael scoffs, patting my leg before moving to stand beside the bed.   
“Alright, you, up. I know you have things to do today but the day is still young! I’m taking you out. Change or take a shower, but be quick.” His hand extends toward me. When I take it, he pulls me up and off of my comfortable safety rectangle. “Today is a day for fun things before I have to go do terribly boring things…like promoting a year long tour.”

We walk past tons of people, hand in hand, through this shopping centre.   
He’s got, what Jemma would call a toboggan, pulled down over his ears and a pair of dark sunglasses covering the majority of his face. The bright, snowy day doesn’t make this seem too unusual. Every man that we pass by seems to look this way.  
His dark, heavy trench coat, dark pants and dark boots help him blend in even more.  
My knee length red wool coat might not be so…subtle.   
We visit the comic shop, where he buys at least five things. I can’t keep count. I share with him that I haven’t really read any comics, never got into the scene. He buys a graphic novel for me, something with large yellow text across the front and a smiley face, and says that I have to read it.   
“I can’t date you unless you have this under your belt. There are several more but this is a good introduction into what it can be.”  
"Then I have to take you to a drag show."   
"Already been, sweetheart. Frank looks okay in a dress."   
I'm honestly not surprised.

He takes me into a store with loud, pulsing music. The walls are faux brick, covered in ‘ironic’ tees, things that Milly would wear, character merchandise, hair dye, band merch and terrible body jewelry. The products are cheaply made but his band has four different t-shirts on sale in here. He grabs one of his band’s shirts, smirking.  
“Who’s that for?”  
“You, ma’am.”  
“Um, I’m sorry?”  
When we reached the counter to pay for the shirt that I don’t want, the cashier doesn’t look up when she grabs the item.   
“Would you like to donate a dollar to-“ She begins to look up and stops midsentence when her eyes lock onto Michael’s face. Her eyes glance down to the garment before looking back up at his face. "You're buying your own merch?" He chuckles, shrugging.   
"It's for her." She glances at me.   
"You couldn't just give her a shirt?"   
"Don't worry about it, love, just ring us up." Just then, a Sister To Sleep song begins to pump out of the speakers in the shop. With a sigh, I turn and walk out of the store. I hear Michael laugh as I walk out.   
I stand outside of the annoying shop, staring at the fragrance adverts across the way. Mikey comes out, still quietly snickering to himself.   
"Having a good time, then?" He bumps me with his shoulder, grabbing my hand with his. We move forward, walking away from the god-awful excuse for a goth shop.   
"She asked me to sign her name badge. I had to oblige."   
"You gonna sign my shirt too, you burk." He chuckles, shaking his head.   
We walk toward the food court, since I'm feeling a bit peckish and he owes me. I'm not exactly sure what or why he owes me but a plate of MSG riddled sesame chicken and lo mein sounds delicious.   
We sit at a small table in the food court of the mall, quietly eating our meal.   
"If it would get you to stay, you know I would...uh..." I look up from my plate, my eyebrows drawn in.   
"Get me to stay where?"   
"In the states. Here, in Newark." It's then that I realize I failed to share the news of my dual citizenship with this man. Actually, I think I forgot to tell any of my friends. Well, forgot to tell Ezra. I don't know if anyone else considers me a friend.  
"I would...uh..." He reaches up, adjusting his glasses some. I'm very impatiently acting patient for his sake. "I'd help you stay here anyway I could." What he's trying to say dawns on me.   
"Michael, are you telling me that you'd give me a green card wedding?" His face immediately flushes pink, his eyes darting down to my plate. My heart swells for this man. After knowing me barely a month and a half, he's willing to go through so much for me. "Why?"  
"Because I like you a lot. You're the first person in years that I've taken seriously because you take me seriously." He sips his drink, still keeping his eyes focused on anything except mine.  
"Take you seriously like you're a person worth my time?"   
"Like I'm not some famous dickhead that you want to screw and brag about it." His tone is nearly defensive. He's been used before. Several times, I'd assume. "You've never seen me as Michael, the bassist in that band. You've seen me as Michael, that dude who is friends with your best friend. I'm not some novelty to you." His expressions change like the waves. I want to hug him but it would nearly feel like pity to him, I'm sure.   
"I'm supposed to be the broken one," I mumble. He chuckles quietly. His hand reaches over the table, taking one of mine.   
"I do mean that, Stella. I would in a heartbeat."   
"But you barely know me. I may be terrible in bed." He smirks, squeezing my hand.   
"That doesn't matter to me, in the slightest." Part of me wants to ask why but it would ruin this sweet moment. My heart starts to regulate its pace for the first time in a few minutes.   
"Well, I have some maybe heartbreaking news, seeing as you just proposed to me."   
"You're gay." I giggle too loud for the joke.   
"Jemma's lawyer informed Jemma and I that I have dual citizenship. I didn't even think about it." The smile that forms on his face makes me smile. "I guess I forgot to tell you when I found out. I was focused on those reruns of Seinfeld." His fingers find a way to lace with mine even tighter than before. It's like I can practically feel his pulse through his hand.  
“So, we wait a few months and do the wedding thing anyway. Six instead of three.” I chuckle, he grins. Two very conflicting parts of my brain scream at once: we want him to be dead serious; we want to run away now and run away fast. Not sure which ratio is winning out.  
“You’re that sure, huh?” He forks a piece of his steak, his expression too serious for the conversation. He looks like he’s thinking too hard. My noodles are haphazardly swirled on my fork before I try to shove them into my mouth. I’m not hungry anymore but I don’t want to waste my food.   
“Yeah, I am. I don’t want to scare you, though.” I resist my urge to choke on the mouthful I have.  
Am I scared? Do I know if this man is the man to tie me down from my life of debauchery? Ha. The craziest I’ve gotten in two years is drinking myself to sleep and wishing that I had a double-ended dildo to smack people around with.  
When I dream, I go hard.  
I did practically tell my father to go fuck himself, so I’m living up to past me a little?  
My eyes lock onto his face again. He’s finally looking at me.  
This man has done a lot for me in the incredibly short amount of time that I’ve known him.   
“If I had to get quickie married to anyone to stay in this country, it’d be you, dearest.” He grins, a bashful expression playing on his face. As soon as the desire to want to kiss him pops into my head, he’s leaning over the table and planting a rather large smooch on my lips.   
He can read minds, make out in public and play bass.  
I’d probably marry him tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I'VE BEEN REALLY SAD THE LAST FEW MONTHS AND I TRIED TO DO BETTER BUT I SUCK AT IT SO OOPS SORRY DEAL WITH THAT SHIT.  
> Now that that's out of the way! This isn't really edited that well but I wanted to get something out because I've felt so inclined to write lately that I want to share it.

Two days after the mall…date, Ezra calls me and asks if I want to hang out. I feel like I haven’t had any time with her in a while so I, of course, say yes.  
“Frank got a pasta machine, so he wants to cook dinner tonight since they’re back home. He’s been itching to play with the damn thing for days. Welcome to the experiment.”  
While getting ready to head to their house, I decide that it might be a good time to inform Ezra and probably Frank too, while I’m at it, that Michael and I are in a relationship. If we’re going to be seen out in public together, we need to be upfront with some of our friends.

“We invited everyone” Ezra says when she calls me as I walk through the front door to leave. “But everyone except you and Mikey are busy. If that’s okay.”  
Her tone was strange. My hands fiddle with the deadbolt as I lock it behind me.  
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?”  
“I don’t know. You guys, you and Mikey, are weird.” I scoff.  
“I know.” The comment further convinces me that I have to tell her or them, rather, because they are a unit. Frank and Ezra are a very connected, very gross unit. I tell Ezra that I’m headed over.  
“Okay, overly punctual girl. See you soon.” The fact that I’m leaving the house thirty minutes earlier than we discussed is because I haven’t seen my best friend in ages. It is totally not because my anxiety about my coming clean to her and her husband makes me pace circles around Jemma’s house.  
With my stomach now feeling like it’s in knots, I decide to walk instead of taking a cab.  
My Docs work well in the snow. I’m glad I have them.  
With my hands in my pockets, I make the slush covered trudge to Casa Isle.  
I only slip twice, surprisingly. No falls, either!

When I knock on the door, I’m nearly thirty minutes early for dinner.  
Frank opens the door, a surprised look on his face when his eyes land on me.  
“You’re early, Stell.” Frank moves, gesturing me inside.  
“Yeah, I know. Had to tell Ez…well, both of you something. You’ll find out about it anyway.” He scoffs as he closes the door behind us. My coat and scarf make it to the coat hooks on the wall next to the door. Ezra walks toward us, dishtowel in hand.  
“Hey there, pretty lady. You’re suuuuuper early.” I feel my cheeks change color (for more than one reason).  
Anxiety creeps up my throat.  
“You lot still cooking? Need help?” Ezra nods, turning to head back to the kitchen. Frank and I follow. I wash my hands as Frank stirs the freshly made boiling pasta and Ezra chops some veggies.  
“So…you’re going to say I told you so. I don’t want to hear it.” Ezra chuckles quietly.  
“Mikey?” With a sigh, I nod as she glances at me. She grins as she shakes her head.  
“What about Mikey?” Frank, who has moved to his pasta machine to begin the cleaning process, it seems, stares at me.  
My walk here had me begin this conversation in many ways. I settled on the truth.  
“Frank…Has Geoff ever…harassed any girls? Been too…hands on?”  
Frank’s expression shifts. Oh shit. Hesitation.  
“Uh…a few times, yeah. While high, always. They always brush it off. Did…Why are you asking?” I swallow before I’m able to speak. This is Geoff’s best friend. He’s seen it.  
“At the house warming party, I knew he was very drunk, probably high. Michael brought him in, after he almost fell into the fire, yeah?” Frank scoffs, moving a hand up to his chin. A few of his fingers cover his mouth as he listens to me. “Mikey and I were kind of flirty, whatever. He heard the conversation, tried to play off of that…” Another sigh. Damnit, Estelle. “He forced himself on me.” Frank looks away, torn expression. “A few kisses. I slapped him. Mikey heard the slap, me yell. Probably saw my lipstick on Geoff’s face.” Frank groans, rubbing his eyes.  
“I’m so sorry, Stella. I…He’s a fucking jackass.”  
“Yeah, sober, he wouldn’t do it. He’s got some deep seeded issues with jealousy and Mikey.” We both shrug. “I’m no home wrecker, obviously. I kept the shit to myself…Until Mikey came ‘round to Jemma’s to get some answers. Push comes to shove, we talk, go on some strange sort of dates.” Frank’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s been a few weeks now, but I think we’re dating?” Ezra chuckles once again, Frank grins.  
“What a good combo.” I nod, shrugging nonchalantly. “Mikey is the furthest thing from a dickhead to his ladies. So you seem to be in good hands. Hopefully, anyway…” I move to help Ezra. “You don’t intimidate him?” I nearly choke on my spit.  
“What?”  
“I mean…you’re a powerhouse of a woman. You’re hot…I mean, Ezra thinks you’re hot.” I try my best not to laugh.  
“What is it with Jersey natives and me being scary?” Frank laughs. “And of course Ezra thinks I’m hot. She wouldn’t have done what she did in high school if she didn’t.” I hear the quietest of groans come from Ezra’s body along with a loud clang. When she turns around to face me, I have the look of a guilty animal on my face.  
“What did Ez do in high school?” Excited puppy Frank nips at our heels.  
“You didn’t tell him?” She shakes her head, eyes closed.  
“Hadn’t planned on it. Might give him ideas.”  
“What did she do?!” My eyes meet Ezra’s. She shrugs, turning back around.  
“Let’s just say that a sound board isn’t the only thing she’s good at tweaking.” I wink at Frank before I burst out in giggles. Ezra had dropped her knife again with her cackling. The doorbell rings then. Frank, who has just learned a little of our sordid past, walks rather quickly to the door. Ezra and I watch him walk to the door through our laughter.  
“You girls should know,” he should back at us, hand on the doorknob, “I’m into threesomes.” The word ‘threesomes’ leaves his mouth as the front door swings open.  
Michael Day stands there, tight pants and slicked back hair. I could eat him alive. His eyes land on me, staring, before Frank even says  
“Hey Mikey!” His expression is concerned. He makes eye contact with Frank.  
“H-Hey Frank…What’s up?” Frank gestures him inside. Michael moves in, his hands moving to his coat buttons.  
“Oh, not much. Just talking to our lady friends about how they used to fingerbang in high school.” Mikey’s expression gets up laughing again.  
We are never living this secret down.

The ride home was a quiet one. Mostly.  
“You told them?” We didn’t talk about it at dinner. Frank got too involved with the pasta machine and press for their tour. The movie distracted them too. Michael wanted to leave quickly, also. This is probably why. I wonder how long this conversation has made the back of his throat feel clogged.  
“She’s my best friend. He’ll find out inevitably…proxy and all that. “ He sighs. “She already had a feeling and Rob already knows.”  
“What?” Quick to offended. I sigh.  
“I didn’t tell him. He saw. Apparently, we do a shit job at hiding our affections, love.” He sighs a defeated, light sigh.  
“I know. Drunk me wants to kiss you far too much. Sober me does too.” He reaches over, then, grabbing my hand from my lap. My blush can’t contain itself. “I don’t want to tell everyone else, though.”  
My shoulders shrug involuntarily.  
“That’s fine by me, sir. Gotta keep an eye out for us, though, yeah?”  
“Obviously.”  
He spends the night.  
It’s the first time I receive a foot massage.  
That’s all I receive, however.  
The obvious lack of sex, sexual advances or just sexual things has started to worry me.  
It’s also only been a few weeks since we even became a thing. If I’m shy about my body, I can’t automatically think he isn’t shy about his. Plus, all of those thoughts he wrestles with when it comes to feeling or being used.  
My dreams are repeating awkward family dinners with Mikey’s parents. I’m naked every time.

He wakes me up the following morning with soft fingertips on my cheeks and neck. Whispered words tickle my ears.  
“Estelle, get up.”  
I groan, reaching out with tired hands to push him away.  
My fingers rest against the sin of his chest. He quietly chuckles in my ear.  
“Are you shirtless?” No filter after waking up. Good job, Estelle. His lips move to my ear. I feel him smile before he plants gentle kisses on my skin  
“Yes.” He mumbles as he pulls away.  
“Why are you naked in my house?” My eyes begin to crack open. With blurry vision, I see Michael Day in his pale, bare chested glory. He’s slim but lean. Must put some work in to stay toned. Probably naturally lean. Can’t see this boy ever bein’ tubby.  
“I got hot last night.” He shrugs.  
“Not hot enough.” I decide after the fact that this statement is not related to my morning filter at all.  
“Oh yeah?” I nod, rubbing my eyes.  
“You’re still wearin’ your pants.” His expression shuts down.  
“Estelle…I…hrm.” My body automatically responds by sitting up, giving him my full attention. Michael looks awkward, uncomfortable.  
“What is it, love?” His brows are furrowed, mouth crooked in a concerning way.  
“Are you…wanting sex?” I cough, choking on my saliva. My English is showing . All of the blood in my body rushes to my face and neck. I instantly feel as uncomfortable as him.  
“Uh…no? My thought process is very skewed.” His expression lightens some.  
“What do you mean?  
“I mean…Sex has been a driving force in 95% of my relationships and it’s the only way I know.” Word vomit starts to come up and out. “I have a hard time gauging attraction or affection when sex isn’t involved.” He reaches out, grabbing my hand. “Your love languages are obvious to me, Michael, but my brain is wired wrong. Blame the men before you.”  
“You think I’m not attracted to you because three weeks in and I’m not fucking you every day?” My eyes widen.  
“N-no…”  
“Is it just sexual stuff? Do you want me to fuck you every day?” He begins to sound defensive.  
“No. Mikey, don’t…Why do you sound defensive? I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything.”  
“No…No…Sorry, I just…I get it. You being different. I am too, I guess. I mean…This is the first time you’ve seen me shirtless. If it’s not obvious already, I’m self conscious.”  
“Of what?”  
“I’m fucking scrawny and not as strong as most of the dudes…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He can’t look at my face.  
“I would try to tell you other wise, but you’ll probably do what I do. I’ll just tell you that you have abs and I would eat sushi off of them.” He guffaws then, giving me a perplexed look while chuckling.  
“That’s totally something in Japan!” He cackles more. “Actual restaurants!” He smirks, shaking his head.  
“Estelle…” His tone changes; I feel the sweat in my underarms. “I’m serious, though. I’m different. I don’t know how to explain it yet but once I do, I will.” My thumbs sweep over the back of his hands as I nod. “Just know that you’re beautiful and I think you’re beautiful. My dick isn’t involved just yet.”  
“You gotta work on your tact, love.” He rolls his eyes.

Michael sticks around for a bit after we get up. We pack up Oliver’s old room. He takes apart the bed while I take down the art.  
Oli hid a lot of punched through hold with posters.  
He still has anger issues.  
The process inspires me to call him.

After Michael leaves, because of work things, I call the number I remember to be Oliver’s.  
It rings eight times.  
“H-Hello?” Male voice I don’t recognize.  
“Hi. Can I talk to Oliver?”  
“Who?” They cough, groggy.  
“Oliver James?” I hear a voice in the background.  
“Who is this?” Shuffling in the background, voice is louder.  
“Estelle, Oliver’s sister.” Shuffling, angry mumbles.  
“Hello?” Oli’s voice. I sigh. The worry I had in my chest dissipates.  
“I thought the worst for a moment there.”  
“Stella!” I smile, pacing around the living room.  
“Hello, brother dear!” I hear a door slam on his end. “Little domestic?”  
“These twinks don’t know how to leave shit alone, it seems.” I scoff.  
“Obviously.”  
“America’s got your accent all fucked, love.” I blow a raspberry. I hear him chuckle. “What’s up?” I’m instantly glad he doesn’t want me to talk about my life story.  
“I’m sure you know the deal with the parents and me.” I pick at something on my arm, holding my phone with my shoulder.  
“Yeah. Buster’s real broke up ‘bout it. He came over to cry ‘bout you. I get it, though. Mum and dad are fuckin’ cunts.” I laugh.  
“Okay, good. I didn’t want to have that conversation! I called to ask if you wanted anything out of your room at Jemma’s”  
“It’s all still there?” I nod to no one.  
“Yeah, just like you left it. Even the weed stash.” He laughs.  
“Oh, exactly what I wanted.” We share a chuckle. “Nah…it’s all old shit I’ve forgotten about.” He pauses. “Keep your art, though.”  
“Oli…”  
“No, I mean it. You’re ace, Stella. Be proud of that shit.”  
“Okay.” I smile.  
“Alright, got a mad boy to deal with. I love you. Laters!”  
“Love you!”  
Dial tone. 

Michael calls me later that night from the airport to apologize for being out of town on Valentine’s Day. The band will be in California for some sort of all day ‘takeover’ of a music channel. I hadn’t realized the date. Obviously, I’m not upset. If I were upset, it would incredibly selfish of me and it’s too soon in the relationship to be that kind of selfish.  
“I get back that night,” he says, “we can meet up when I get back in town?”  
“You’ll be tired, love.”  
“It doesn’t matter. I want to spend time with you.” I sigh.  
“Okay, you’re an adult and can make your own poor decisions.” He chuckles quietly.  
I tell him to be safe on his flight. He tells me that he’ll let me know when they land. The rest of the evening is spent going through my old stashes of papers, letters, and old drawings. The decision to have a bonfire is not a quick, irrational one in the slightest.

The following day begins with a text from Michael Day informing me that they landed, Rob threw up on the plane and Geoff has informed everyone that he thinks they need a new manager. When I ask Mikey what he thinks, he calls.  
“You know Chris is one of his biggest drug enablers, yeah?” I say, pulling a few broken down cardboard boxes from a spare closet and into the living room.  
“I do know, yes, but Chris has been with us from the beginning.”  
“And how long has Geoff had his drug issue?” Mikey clears his throat. “Exactly.” He sighs.  
“I know…it’s just a difficult thing to think about.”  
“Who all is on board?” He sighs again.  
“Everyone except me, at this point. Geoff talked to everyone about the drugs, to a degree. Of course, he won’t give out any of the sordid details but enough to make them want to get the drugs away from Geoff. I even brought up that we could maybe get Chris out of them too but Geoff refused the idea. He said something like ‘I tried to have that conversation. It got me a black eye and no coke for a week.’” We sigh practically in unison.  
“Gotta give in, love.”  
“I know.” I can visualize him nodding reluctantly, staring at his shoes. “I miss you,” he mumbles, sounding like there’s something in his mouth.  
“I miss you. Stay safe. See you tomorrow night?”  
“Of course, ma’am. Talk to you later.”  
It’s well established that we don’t usually say bye. For some reason, saying bye makes both of us uncomfortable. How odd that we would prefer to be hung up on than say something so meaningless as goodbye after a phone call.


	16. Chapter 16

I begin the process of packing up the living room’s linens and knick-knacks. Jemma may love living a simple, chemical free life but she collects random shit more than anyone else I know. She is the person who inspired my love of odd travel memorabilia. Oh, you went to Texas? Have this Texas shaped salt and pepper shaker set. Is Nebraska on your brain? Here’s an exciting snow globe of all that Nebraska has to offer.   
During all of the excitement of the knick-knacks, Milly calls me.   
“Hey, Sorry, this is Milly! I got your number out of Mikey’s phone.” Odd.  
“That’s quite alright.”  
“You know the guys are out of town tomorrow, yeah?” I nod to no one.  
“Yeah, heard that. What’s your plan?” I ask because, obviously, Millicent Day will have plans for St. Valentine’s.  
“Well, other than be disappointed that Geoff is missing our first Valentine’s Day together in person…” My eyes widen.  
“How long have you been together?”  
“Online…Three years? Kinda. In person…since…August?”  
“When did you get married?”  
“October.” I keep blinking. “Anyway! I wanted you to come over!”  
“Really?” She quietly chuckles.  
“Yeah, actually. I have a huge stash of fashion stuff that I would love to go through with you. You’re the perfect person to do it with! Dinner and everything, of course, my treat.” I want to try to give Milly every chance I can. She needs someone, other than her husband and his best friends.  
“Sure. Yeah, that sounds like a good time.”  
“Yeah?” She sounds absolutely excited. ”Okay, great! It’s a date! I’ll call you tomorrow with a time and stuff!”  
“Sounds lovely.”  
Jemma comes home soon after the phone call. She and I pack up her room then watch a documentary about healthcare in America.  
“Bloody hell,” I say.  
“Damn right,” she says.

“Milly invited you over?” I nod as I sift through my closet.  
“Yeah. I said yes, of course.” Ezra sighs at me.  
“Do you want to go?” I pick a nice button up flannel out of the closet along with a comfortable t-shirt.  
“I do. It’s good to hang out, have a good time. Also, you didn’t tell me Milly and Geoff have only physically been together for a few months.” She scoffs.  
“You didn’t ask.” I scoff back.  
“You’re absolutely the biggest gossip I know, love.” She laughs.  
“True. Keep me filled in on the details.”  
“Of course! How’s the gang?” She sighs. I riffle through my chest of drawers. My favorite pair of dark wash jeans call out to me. I nod to myself for my finished outfit.  
“The guys are fine.” Ezra decided to join Frank on this trip to Los Angeles. She told me there were a few antique shops she wanted to go by that had specific items she wanted for the house. Bloody useless gettin’ on a plane to go shop, do it online. “Mikey’s been beating himself up. Really clumsy and shit. Wonder why.” I fake groan at her. She snickers.  
“I’m gonna go get ready. See yas, miss.”  
“Bye!”

With an hour before Milly is scheduled to arrive, I apply a very subtle makeup. Of course, subtle for me is winged eyeliner, false lashes and a red lip. When she knocks on the door, I have my face on, hair messily thrown up in a bun and a shot of bourbon in my guts. I’m feeling good.  
Her knock is a welcomed sound.  
“Hello, Mrs. Day!” My singsong greeting makes the very normal looking Milly smile.  
“Hey Stella! Ready to go?” I nod, adjusting my purse on my shoulder. She eyes me first before moving down the stairs. “Sister To Sleep?” Her eyes narrow and her head tilts, a confused expression. Glancing down, I notice that I managed to grab the only STS shirt I own. With a sigh, I shake my head. She laughs.

"Wigs?"  
"Oh, yeah, I have loads of them. I like to feel the fantasy."   
"Feel the..."  
"Sometimes I want to look weird and sometimes I want to go buy groceries without being looked at funny."   
“Reasonable. I’m sure there are plenty of curmudgeonly folk who live here.” She chuckles, standing from where we were sitting on the couch.   
The Day home, Geoff and Milly’s side of it anyway, is nearly filled to the brim. They collect far more eclectic items than my grandmother. All of them seem to have a place, though. Lots of art, cardboard cutouts of characters from movies or television shows, old action figures and an absolute fuck load of music. There are bookcases dedicated to CDs, records…even cassette tapes.   
Milly moves to the corner of the room where a tower of large, plastic bins sit. As she starts to pull the tower over from the bottom, I quickly stand and move to her.  
“Okay, pregnant, calm down.” She gasps quietly, standing up straight. Her worried eyes stare at mine. “It’s just us here, love, calm down.” My hand gently pats her shoulder. I see the stress melt away for a moment. “Where do you want these? I’ll move them for you.” She nods, pointing to around the coffee table. “Okay, move that table over and I’ll put them in front of the couch.” After a few moments of pulling the top bin down, she has since moved the table and scurried to the kitchen. Once I have the three bins positioned in the most logical way, she has brought two pizza boxes.   
“Cheese and pepperoni, I hope you don’t mind.”  
“No one’s allowed to be picky with free pizza.” She laughs.   
Then…it begins.  
As we go through the bins, I pull out several (more than several) human hair wigs, lace fronts and some terrible, terrible synthetic tangled messes. In the third bin, there’s this beautiful, still brand new looking blonde wig. It’s the longest one in any of the boxes and it’s got a wave to it. As I pull it from it’s package and net, she sighs.  
“Geoff doesn’t like me as a blonde.” Glancing at her, I notice her mouth set in a small frown.  
“Why, exactly?” I turn to her as I shake the wig out some. Her eyes lock onto the hair, her fingers running through the smooth, voluminous fibers.   
“Not sure. Maybe an ex, maybe he just prefers brunettes.”  
“But he can be platinum? Wanker.” She giggles…actually giggles. I feel the smug frown start to form. I have to fight myself to keep it from showing to her. The idea pops into my head before I can stop myself. My hands quickly retie my hair in a tighter, lower bun on the back of my head. I have the wig on, tightened and secured before she can say much to me. She helps me brush the stray hairs out of my face, setting the wig in it’s natural part.   
“Spent at least $150 on that one. All lace cap. I cut the lace before even trying it on but couldn’t return it because of it.” She sighs longingly again. My hand moves to her knee, patting it with an almost condescending amount of pressure.  
“There, there, dear. I’ll just wear it in your honor.” She chuckles as I stand, moving to the other side of the room where a small writing desk sits next to the front door. The wall behind the desk holds several pieces of art but a moderately sized mirror. I love the look of it on me. Should have been born a blonde.  
While admiring myself in the mirror, the front door opens unexpectedly. Milly or I hadn’t looked at the time in hours. It’s dark enough outside to be at least 8 pm. I’ve been here since maybe quarter past 5.   
I’m lucky I was standing so close to the desk or else the doorknob would have been lodged in my bum.   
The voices of the Day brothers ring through the once quiet living room. They both make overly exaggerated sighs when they see the bins and wigs lying everywhere.   
“Hey babe! Still cleaning?” I’m assuming Geoff drops all of his stuff when the loud thumping noise happens.   
“Yeah! You guys are back earlier than I thought you’d be!”  
“It’s almost nine.” Michael’s voice, which makes my heart beat a little faster, sounds incredibly unenthused with the situation. It’s just then that I remember I haven’t checked my phone in hours. Damn. Guilt washes over me.  
“And you ate pizza without me?!” Geoff’s fake hurt voice annoys me. I turn to grimace at him but realize that they don’t know I’m standing here. The Day brothers are both inside now, the door still wide open, both facing Milly. Michael’s weighed down.   
“We ate pizza, I couldn’t eat all of that by myself!” She awkwardly chuckles, sending a rushed glance in my direction.   
“We?” Before either of the brothers have a chance to look around, I close the door…Perhaps with a little too much force.  
I like dramatics.   
The boys turn around with strange looks on their faces. The grin I must have had on my face made both of their eyebrows raise.   
Oh, the wig.  
“Hello, boys.” I put a hand on my hip, winking at them. Milly laughs, Geoff smirks and Mikey…His face is the most blank I’ve seen it. I try to power through the confusion I’m feeling. “Like my new look?” My hands brush the hair off of my shoulders. Geoff laughs then.   
“I don’t like that wig on anyone,” Geoff says matter-of-factly. Mikey’s face changes a little then. The tenseness in my stomach eases some when I walk back to the bins, when I can’t see him. I carefully remove the expensive piece and hand it to Milly who re-bags it with more sighing. Milly and Geoff then both walk to the kitchen, having a conversation I don’t have much interest in.   
I think I start to shiver but it might just be my guts.  
“Hey, guys,” Mikey calls out to them. The difference in volume makes me wince. “I’m gonna go take Estelle and show her that thing I got her!” They both call out ‘okay’ at the same time. “Get your coat and bag,” he mumbles to me. With that, he walks out of their apartment, leaving the door wide open.   
What. Now, I’m the one sighing.   
Quickly, I pull my hair out of it’s bun, throw on my coat and fetch my bag. As I move to the door, I dig around for my mobile in my mess of a purse. Three missed calls and four text messages, all from Michael. Damn. I decide to not read any of the text messages, they’d make me feel even more guilty. I walk through one Day threshold, closing the door gently behind me. Walking through the second has one nearly annoyed looking Michael Day, de-bagged with his coat hanging off of one shoulder, a few feet away from the doorway. The way his eyes sit on me cut burning holes through my flesh. I feel the stinging of the burn through the chill that runs down my spine. My hands gently close this door too, preparing mentally for a backlash.  
Michael walks to me, gently taking my bag from me and placing it on the side table he has next to his door. Milly must have gotten a two pack. We stand there for a silent moment. His eyes are staying on my bag; Mine are locked on him.   
It’s very unexpected when one of his cold hands finds it’s way up the nape of my neck and into my hair. His expression is incredibly readable now. He seems to be burning up inside, with how intense his gaze is on my face.  
I try to speak at least three times before he kisses me.   
This isn’t any old kiss, either. This isn’t even a ten minute bathroom snog session. This is desperate and deep. This is bruising and hard.   
I don’t realize it when he pushes me against the wall. I don’t realize it when he lifts my legs up to wrap around his waist.   
Most of all, I fail to realize that my shirt hem is pushed up to my collar bones.   
When his teeth bite into the palest, most sensitive bits of my chest, I snap out of whatever haze he had thrown me into. It might have also been the sound I made that knocked me back into reality. I’m upset about it though, really. That mind hole was a pretty enjoyable place. My legs manage to find stable ground after I move them back down but he doesn’t stop and I don’t want him to. When he goes to take off my shirt, however, I do stop him. With soft fingers, I pull his face up to mine. He’s flushed, lips slightly swollen and red from my lipstick, pupils blown out, and he’s breathing quite hard. My fingers brush the stray hair out of his face that had started to stick there with sweat.   
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, licking my now dry feeling lips, “time escaped me.” He shakes his head, his hands moving from my bum to my face. His hands shake from the adrenaline as he tries to reciprocate the same hair moving gesture to me. The feeling of his thumb brushing my ear makes me shiver through the heat in my belly.   
“I…thought you were upset with me.” I shake my head then, a small smile playing on my lips.  
“Silly boy.” His lips meet mine again, gently…lovingly while his fingers pull my shirt down. He moves his body back an inch or two.  
“I’m sorry,” he says, still whispering, “that was a bit much.” I shake my head again, wanting to pull him back onto me. “I missed you.”  
“I missed you.” He smiles then and the heat I feel radiating through my entire body.  
“I did get you something. I wasn’t completely lying.” He smirks. I have to kiss him again. He’s opened up something that I didn’t know existed in him.  
I want all of it.   
He moves away, to his bags. Instantly, I miss the warmth of him. Hands dig through the bag feverishly for a few moments before pulling out a small, wrapped item. With a flourish, he turns back to me. His expression seems a little embarrassed.   
“Here,” he says, still speaking quietly. I think if he were to speak at a normal volume, my head would explode. With a small smile, I take the box from him.  
“You didn’t have to get me anything, Michael.” He shrugs.  
“I saw it and thought of you immediately. Had to get it.” Gently, I peel the tape from the fanciful gold and silver lined paper. The small, not ring sized velvet box makes me gasp quietly. My eyes shoot a few glances at him. He stares at me as blankly as he can. The box creaks as it opens.  
Inside the small, blue velvet box lives one of the most lovely necklaces I’ve seen. A chain holds a teardrop shaped pendant with thick and thin lines of gold, ornate filigree decoration, with a large diamond in the center. Very Edwardian, art deco…very expensive because it looks like real gold…and a real diamond.   
I can’t help it when my mouth falls open. I try to say his name several times. He nearly scurries up to me.  
“The woman at the shop told me that it’s 24 carat gold and that the diamond is, uh…European cut! And! It was probably created in the early 1900s, 1915 to 1920.” I look up at him, mouth still wide. “I assumed you liked art deco style things because of that rant you went on about art deco verses mid-century modern. You seemed to lean more towards a Gatsby style.” He chuckles quietly, smirking. I feel my lips closing, a smile forming. “Plus, you’re birthday is in April and the diamond is the birth stone for April.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes. I’m on the verge of tears when my arms fling out, wrapping around his neck like a vice. My lips kiss his neck dozens of times, mumbling thank you over and over. He laughs, petting my hair softly. “You’re welcome, of course.” My thoughts form sentences now so I keep my face in his neck to avoid him seeing me cry…again.  
“This is, legitimately, one of the only thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received in my life.” His hands pause their movement on my body for a moment.  
“Really? Not even birthdays?” I shake my head, a few tears finding their way out of my eyes.  
“Always money,” I manage to get out with a calm voice. My nose betrays me, of course. The sniffles have Michael pulling back from me. When our eyes meet, his brow is furrowed with concern. We stand for a few seconds in silence before his face shifts, like he was remembering something.  
“Oh, I got you something else.” My body reacts strangely, shoulders sagging and mouth opening wide again. “I knew that I would probably have to buy two things to cover up the necklace.” He kisses me again before moving back to his bags. At the bottom of a different bag, a rectangular paper bag comes up through the clothes. It’s thin but wide, record sleeve sized. Sure enough, he pulls a record sleeve out of the bag and hands it to me.   
The record is an original press of the Misfits album, Static Age, my favorite. It’s a red pressing, complete with the original inner sleeve. I want to punch him…or collapse. Might do both.   
I end up kissing him again.  
It’s not my fault that I end up against the wall for a few more minutes, hands clutching my gifts tightly while wrapped around Michael’s neck.  
It’s a while later when he drops the needle on the rotating record. The volume is low. Punk is funny when it’s played at low volumes. My fingers play with the hanging pendant, feeling the bumps of the filigree. When he sits back down next to me, his face is open and relaxed. Our fingers intertwine immediately, like magnets.   
“This had to be, at least, $300, Michael.” He shakes his head, smirking some.  
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Damn! I feel my face blank, jaw a little slack, heart now beating a little too quickly.   
“I…” My words trail off, completely forgetting the day. Also, forgetting how to speak english.  
“I wasn’t expecting anything, Estelle. I know you have a lot going on but I wanted to surprise you. You mean a lot to me.” I want to repay him in sexual favors. Mentally, I fight myself to keep my hands put. He wouldn’t want me to do anything, I’m sure. My eyes dart from my lap to his face.   
Wouldn’t he?  
After the last hour or so, I’m unsure.  
“I can give you something too…if you’d like.” I throw my most alluring voice out of my throat, giving my lips a lick. When my eyelashes slowly lift up at him, when I see his reaction to my offer, panic sets in. He’s lobster red, eyes wide and maybe a little sweaty. “I mean, there’s no pressure or anythin’!”  
“You’re terrible!” He chokes out, clearing his throat. The expression that forms on my face I can only describe as cheeky.   
“It’s what I do best, love.”   
I spend the night.  
We both lack sort of pajama pant.  
As adults, we do the body rubbing thing teenagers do when they’re too afraid to actually have sex.  
He has to go to the bathroom awkwardly, because he’s too shy to be naked in front of me just yet.  
I can’t stop myself from laughing.


	17. Chapter 17

A few weeks pass with nothing of real importance happening.  
I slowly pack up Jemma’s house, arranging things for her and Edward to come get slowly while they settle their travel plans. The gang (Ha, gang) agrees to help me paint the house in exchange for non-burnt food prepared by me. Michael insisted that he help me with that.   
Michael and I, on his off days, move Jemma’s things from the house to a storage unit on the other side of town. It’s Edward’s unit, but he gave me a key.  
“If there’s anything in there that interests you, feel free to take it.” His drawl makes his offer seem less like there’s a catch. When I had lunch with Jemma and Edward at that terrible Mexican restaurant Mikey and I went to, I gave him the blankest look I could muster at his offer.   
“So, I move her shit, I get yours? Where would I even put it?” They both sighed.   
“We can help you get an apartment, sweetie. I’ll take care of everything because you’re doing so much for me.” I didn’t take that well.   
We all left that lunch grumpy but I left it grumpy and feeling the need to be incredibly independent.   
Ezra and I sit now in her living room, me scrolling though job advertisements and her making phone calls.   
“Yes, Beth, I know. I know we don’t need any damn interns right now. I was just asking for a friend.” She pauses, listening to whoever Beth is for a minute. She called her HR manager at the record label she works at as a sound engineer. “My friend has a degree in graphic design and can’t get a break when it comes to work.” Beth practically screams on the other end of the phone. “What?! I didn’t know we needed new marketing package!” She scrambles around then, flinging stuff around on the coffee table before finding a pen and a scrap of paper. “Estelle James.” Ezra glances at me, winking once before going back to the sheet of paper. “Okay, go ahead.” I have closed the laptop now, almost confused but mostly just trying to eavesdrop. “Dunkleman forty-five at yahoo?” She nods to the piece of paper she’s writing on. “Perfect. I’m sure she has it with her or digitally. I’ll relay the message. Thanks Beth, I appreciate it.” Ezra pulls the phone away from her ear, pressing the END button with a quiet squeal. “Shit yeah, girl, you fucking owe me!” Her hand flings out, nearly smacking my face. With some hesitation, I take the strip from her.   
Beth Dunkleman, HR rep  
dunkleman45@yahoo.com  
“She gave you her email for me to…?” I say, looking up from the paper.  
“Contact her! You have your portfolio, right?” With a shrug, I nod.  
“Digital and physical copies.” Her hands fling up in excitement.  
“Hot damn!” Slowly, it dawns on me that Ezra has just gotten me my first potential interview since getting my degree.   
“I have a reason to get that new phone thing by Apple, now!” She rolls her eyes at my trying to justify spending money that I don’t have.  
We celebrate with a few drinks and a terrible romantic comedy.  
I contact Beth Dunkleman the next day. We exchange phone numbers. We schedule a meeting the same day.   
I sit awkwardly in this well decorated yet overly posh office. My face is painted to the absolute nines. The hair on my head hasn’t had more hairspray in it’s curls. This is the first time I’ve worn my deep navy suit jacket and matching pencil skirt. My high collared white blouse jabs into my neck as I try my best to discreetly watch Beth while she flips through the portfolio.   
Beth’s office smells of garlic and cheap perfume. Sweat gathers on my palms while she scrutinizes the last set in my portfolio. It was my final piece before I graduated. I had to actually create three entirely different marketing packages for three separate fake businesses. None of them could have similar color schemes or designs. My favorite of the three, a fake natural beauty products site, was a very clean, very minimalistic, straightforward design. My professor called it “progressive.” I remember scoffing at him but inside, I was dead chuffed.   
“How long would it take you to make something like this…but with templates for letters interoffice emails or memos?” She looks up at me over her glasses. Her dyed blonde hair is pulled tightly back in a terrible french twist. The aged skin on her face sags a little around her mouth and the corners of her eyes. I assume she’s almost fifty. Stress could be getting to her, though. The one thing she has going for her, other than the job potential, is her lip shade. We share a love of blue based red lipstick.   
I nod in response to her question.  
“It would only take a little bit of tweaking to come up with any sort of document template you’d want.” She smiles at my answer, gently closing my portfolio.   
“Well, Miss James, I love your work. If you are willing to lend us your talents, the company would love to work with you.” Her tone is nearly condescending. It takes absolutely all of my reserve to not gag at her.  
“Of course! I’m incredibly interested in working with the company.” My smile is my mastered fake beamer, all perfect white teeth. She returns the smile. I like the honest obvious fakeness between us.   
“You’ll be working with me, obviously, on the design aspects. The previous in-house designer was recently let go, so for weeks we’ve been trying to find someone to assist us. If all of this goes smoothly, I might be able to offer you a full time position here to replace him.” My smile morphs into a legitimate one. “I don’t want to call this a test, seeing as how this is for the company and hundreds of people will see your work but, to the higher-ups, it’s a test.” She chuckles quietly. “Up for the challenge, Estelle?” Her smile meets her eyes and I now appreciate the realness of her.  
“Of bloody course.” She laughs.

Michael adjusts the pendant on my necklace, placing it in the middle of my chest. My low cut dress means the pendant is on full display tonight. Michael practically forced me to wear it.   
“People will ask me where I got it.” He closed the clasp while I held up my hair.  
“Tell them it’s Jemma’s if you’re worried about it.” I feel his lips on my neck and shiver.   
“I don’t want to lie. Obviously, you don’t want me to either.” His fingers slide around my lower back and hips as he moves to stand in front of me.  
“Obviously?” My fingers fiddle with his black skinny tie, adjusting it nervously.   
“Obviously. You’re making me wear it, showing it off to people.” He smirks at me, watching my focused face while I perfect the placement of his tie.  
“It was a gift. Jewelry is meant to be worn, Stella.” My eyes roll as my hands fall from his neck.   
“There. You don’t look like a ragamuffin now.” His smile melts me. Michael moves to the wall, where his suit jacket hangs waiting. The suit he’s opted to wear is black, very sleek and very fitted. I’m surprised he owns a suit like this. Mikey seems a bit like a odds and ends formal pieces kind of guy. As he puts on his suit jacket, he eyes me.   
So, my red strappy heels might be a little too high. The black dress I’m wearing might be too form fitting or even show too much cleavage. However, this is a night celebrating me and the fact that I have a full-time job now.   
A few weeks have passed since the interview.  
I accompanied Milly to her doctor’s visit. The ultrasound was a fun experience because Milly started sobbing. Of course, I try my best to not be emotionally influenced. Children don’t appeal to me. Consoling her was a task I wish on no one. Her OB/GYN says that the baby measured about seven weeks, coming close to the end of her first trimester. Well, exciting!   
After that, I finished up the package for Beth. Apparently, everyone raved about it.   
I was hired on by the label’s CEO personally. It was a nearly traumatizing experience.  
Now, I have an office, a god damn salary and a fancy celebratory dinner in NYC to attend.   
Michael buttons one of the buttons on his two button, expensive suit as we stare at each other.   
It might be a bit much, but I’ve pulled out my fur for the evening.   
As Michael helps me into my ridiculously expensive, mid-length white fur coat, I let out a heavy sigh.   
“What?” He asks, pulling on his own wool coat on.  
“I feel like eighteen year old me.” His eyebrows raise with a silent question. “Trying very hard to be in a city, posh…adoring overly expensive things.” My hands slide over the silky fur, remembering my times at premiers or dumb cocktail parties. His mouth settles in a funny frown.  
“It suits you.” I groan at him, swatting his arm.  
We carpool with Frank and Ezra, as to keep some suspicions down but mostly because Michael had no idea how to get to the restaurant.   
The place itself is some trying too hard fine sushi dining place that Geoff picked because we “have to fucking try their spicy rolls.” We were told to dress well. Everyone in here looks like they are trying too hard.  
I’m wearing a fur coat so I have no room to say absolutely anything. We sit in a small room in the back side of the restaurant reserved for large parties. Everyone orders their rolls, their drinks and mostly everyone gets miso soup. It’s an hour of everyone loudly talking over everyone else. Michael and I sit next to each other. Because we’re the only two “single” people in the group, we’re put together anyway. He keeps his hand on my thigh most of the night, toying with the hem of my dress. It’s the first time since moving here that I’ve gotten drunk in public. Milly did the odd thing and brought a cake for us to have.  
Congratulations, Estelle!  
The buttercream icing doesn’t appeal to drunk me but I eat around it. At some point, there’s a toast to my honor.   
“To Estelle,” begins Ezra, “the laziest, cattiest, funniest and most posh girl I know!” My exaggerated groan gets a few laughs as their say their cheers. I’m embarrassed but feel loved. The warmth in my chest isn’t just from the alcohol.   
Soon after, we say our byes and head back to our respective homes. Frank drops us off at Jemma’s. Because the house is practically empty, I’ve set up camp in the living room. I have a small rack where most of my clothes live up against a wall. My mattress is laying in the center of the room on the floor, surrounded by the things that I have discarded before passing out. The television sits on the floor a few feet away from the bed. Jemma took the entertainment center to Edwards, leaving me with a small pile of the electronics that were inside of it. Mikey has a small pile of things here: clothes, shoes, toiletries and a spare phone charger. Jemma’s is closer to the practice space so when he needs to be there in a hurry, he can be. Geoff or Milly never question his not being at home. He claims that he’s never home anyway, it’s a place to sleep.   
We disrobe, leaving the nice and pricey clothing scattered around on the floor.   
I’m still incredibly drunk but holding myself well. Michael only had two drinks, which surprised me. Normally, he drinks me under the table.   
My hands fight my hair, pulling out bobby pins and tossing them in the bin near my bed. Every pin misses, I think. I don’t bother with a shower, neither does Michael. We do brush our teeth at the same time.  
Part of me is disgusted at the amount of domesticity we have in the short time we’ve been together. Every other part remembers that he proposed to me, practically, and that he wants this…probably.  
My hair is probably a wreck as we go to lay down.   
As a precautionary measure, Michael has gotten both of us a red plastic cup (because I packed the dishes long ago) filled with water and the bottle of aspirin. The bin is also moved close by.   
He turns off the light and lays beside me, I feel myself dozing.  
“What if you move in with me?” This conversation ended three hours ago…or so I thought. Geoff had asked me what I was going to do about my living situation. It was a conversation that I didn’t invest in too much.  
“What are you going to do about a place to stay?” He asked me directly, talking around other conversations. I shrugged, gulping down my weird, lime green cocktail.  
“I have an income now. Prolly rent my own flat, drink myself to sleep every night.” He chuckled. “We’ll see what happens. I have a few weeks left in Jemma’s before I have to absolutely get out.” He nodded, the conversation ended.  
“Estelle?” My hand reaches out, touching the first bit of him I feel. His hip is bony under my fingers.   
“Is that the best idea, Michael?” As slowly as I can, to keep the nausea at bay, I turn to face him in the darkness. The streetlight outside of the house shines through the lace curtains and blinds, just barely lighting the room. He has a very open expression.  
“Well…I want a reason to keep paying the rent while I’m gone for months at a time. I have a spare room with nothing but useless office stuff. My laptop is always with me, what’s the point in an office?” He looks away from me, his mouth shifting in an odd way. “I don’t like being alone. Honestly, I don’t think you do either.” My hand moves to his face, fingers lightly touching his jaw. At least…I think it’s lightly touching. My arms are too heavy to really know at this point. “You fall apart when you’re alone for too long.” I try to scoff but the sound is much more muddled, sloppy. “It’s true!” He laughs quietly at me, grinning.  
“What would people think?” I think the ‘would’ is a little slurred but I’m not sure. Don’t care really.   
“They would think we’re two people who need roommates. Plus, as you well know and have mentioned on several occasions, my apartment is a depressing shit hole.” Giggles find their way out of my mouth. He smiles again. “Drunk you is ridiculous, by the way.”  
“Thanks for taking care of me.” My fingers touch his lips, as a gesture of caring. I feel him kiss them. We’re both grinning like idiots.   
“Of course, Estelle.” He pauses. “Just, think about it, okay?” I already knew my answer before he had to explain his reasoning. However, I wanted to hear his reasoning before I told him anything.   
“I did think about it,” I say with a nod, “and let’s do it.” He chuckles softly at me.   
“Should I ask again in the morning?” My head shakes, spiking the nausea just slightly.   
“I’ll remember all of this…probably.”  
“Probably.” I think he says something else but I don’t hear it. I’m out like a light.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of rape

I wake up, headache only slightly radiating from behind my eyes. My hand reaches out, feeling for his body but the other side of the bed is empty. Immediate panic sets in. Trying my best to be sensical, I stop moving to listen for any signs of life in the house. The echo of rustling comes from the kitchen. A relieved sigh escapes my mouth. Slowly, because I don’t know if I’ll be sick or not yet, I sit up. The aspirin and water go down my throat easy enough. Chills run through my body so I use a blanket to cover my half naked body. My legs are a little wobbly on my walk to the kitchen.  
Michael, looking completely refreshed and clean, is cooking something on the stovetop with the one pan I have. He demanded that I have at least one pan, one pot and a spatula or two. We, together, go out and eat more often than not but I didn’t argue with him. The smell of eggs hits me then, with a twinge of pepper. He turns then, reaching for the refrigerator door handle. His eyes catch me standing in the doorway. A smile crosses his lips before he turns back around.  
Surely, I look like a mess. Hair in strange waves, makeup a total disaster, smelling like a night full of regretful drinking, blanket cocoon wrapped around me like I’m homeless.  
“Good, uh, morning.” His words seem cheery enough. The spatula scrapes around some in the pan. I move closer to him; the smell of food drawing me near.  
“Is it morning?” I choke out. Mucus buildup in my throat makes me sound like I’m dying. He chuckles as I clear my throat.  
“It’s after one.” With a groan, I shake my head.  
“And yet, you’re making breakfast food.” Michael shrugs, flipping the stove eye off quickly. As he deposits the eggs onto two plates, he looks at me.  
“Easiest and fastest thing to make. I figured it wouldn’t upset your stomach too much. Protein is good for hangovers or something, right?” I shrug, having no clue. “There’s also toast. That store on the corner-“  
“Zeebo’s?” I cut him off. He nods, smirking. “Good chap.”  
“Yeah, the clerk seemed nice. They actually have a wide selection of jellies.”  
“Like…jam?” He nods, raising his eyebrows for emphasis.  
“I was surprised. Their dozens of cases of Bud Light make for great decor but hide all of the gems nestled inside.” I laugh quietly, shaking my head. “What am I forgetting?” He asks, staring down at his plates. “Oh!” Michael turns back to the refrigerator, reaching inside. I assume I distracted him before. He sprinkles a small amount of shredded cheese onto both of our servings. “Go sit back on the bed, I’ll be out in a minute.”  
“I can help,” I say as I reach for the now empty pan on the stovetop. His body steps in the way, moving closer to me.  
“And drop your blanket?” The volume and tone of his voice makes my already wobbly legs much worse.  
“If you keep talking like that, I wouldn’t be so cold.” A blush creeps up my face and neck.  
He kisses me. I probably have the worst breath I could possibly have.  
“Sorry about that, morning breath.” His head shakes, brushing off my comment.  
“I knew what I was getting into. Go sit, I’ll bring you your plate.” For the first time, I get a smack to my bum. It’s playful, obviously, but it throws me off.  
“Yes sir,” is the only way I’m able to respond.  
The cocoon I make for myself on the bed has holes for my head and hands only. I turn on the television, flipping through the cable channels. Luckily for Michael and I, Jemma kept the cable on.  
“Until you move, sweetie.” She told me.  
The news settles in on the telly. Anchors babble on about something to do with the current secretary of the state visiting the middle east. I don’t pay much attention, however, because a tall thin boy is bringing me eggs and toast. After my plate is passed, he flops down next to me. Our shoulders bump; I nearly drop my eggs everywhere. As we quietly eat, the news shifts to some celebrity nonsense. A talk show host interviews an actor, I think his name is something Cheadle. Oh, he’s promoting a new movie with that ridiculous man from Little Nicky.  
“What do you think?” Michael asks. When I look up at him, he nods at the eggs.  
“It’s no eggy in a basket but it’ll do.” He smirks. “What’s this jam on the toast? Blackberry?” He nods. “Zeebo’s! Not disappointing!” We both laugh.  
He collects our plates after I’m told to go shower. Bossy Michael is my new favorite.  
I go through the process quickly enough. So quickly, in fact, that I forgot to grab a towel. Without thinking, I move from the bathroom to the living room. The small stack of towels that Jemma left for me sits against the wall with my clothes.  
Michael has looked back at me and turned away quickly before I can say anything. His reaction strikes me in a way that makes me feel…almost ugly. The towel is tucked around me before I say anything.  
“Sorry.” My voice is terribly defeated, the words are hardly a mumble. He turns back, slowly, cautiously. His face is nearly glowing red. I’m naked and Mikey is shy. Gotta remember that.  
“I didn’t know you had a hip tattoo.” His words sound worse than mine. Water drips down my legs and onto the wooden floor.  
“It’s a song by The Smiths.”  
“I thought I saw glasses?”  
“Morrissey’s.”  
“What did it say?”  
“Oh, what a terrible mess I’ve made of my life.” Feeling incredibly awkward, I quickly gather clothes to change into. My body isn’t dry enough when I pull up my jeans. The t-shirt I wear clings to the moisture on my back.  
The massive knot in my stomach continues to harden as I walk back out into the living room. Michael has turned the telly off, now facing my direction. I stop moving forward when I’m a few steps away from the bed. All of the air in the room seems thick. We stare at each other silently, waiting on the other to make the first comment.  
After a minute and a half, I can’t stand it anymore.  
“Do you not want to see me naked? Am I unappealing to you?” The second question slips out, knowing full well that I am quite appealing to this man. Anxiety covers my body like a thick gunk I couldn’t scrape off if I tried. He stands, slowly, taking only a step towards me.  
I don’t think he knows what to say. Any comment he makes could either help or hurt the situation. More likely to hurt or hurt the situation. His mouth moves like he wants to speak several times before he actually does.  
“It’s not that. I know that these past few weeks, I’ve been pretty flip-flop with how I’ve been approaching you…uh…sexually.” I nod, vividly remembering the dinner we had three nights ago.  
We had spent most of the day moving furniture into Edward’s storage unit.  
He had decided on China King, one of my recent favorite places to dine for dinner. We sat in the farthest back corner, a booth usually reserved for larger groups. It was busy, so after we got our food and hot tea, we were ignored. I spent nearly twenty minutes slapping his hands away from under my dress before I gave in.  
It isn’t every day you get fingered by Michael fucking Day in the back of a Chinese restaurant.  
I stand silently, waiting on him to finish his thought.  
“I don’t see people in a sexual way. I can’t look at someone and be like ‘Oh, they’re attractive, I want to sleep with them.’” My brows furrow but I have a slight understanding. “It’s been years…God, since I was seventeen probably, that I’ve been like this. I don’t know if it was something that happened or if my sexuality is just this way. Any therapist I talk to says that sexuality is a spectrum. I fall somewhere around asexual.” He steps closer. “But I don’t, though, because after I met you…after we connected, it was all I could do to stop myself.” His gaze have gone from the floor to my face a thousand times by now.  
“So, I’m the golden ticket, eh?” My tone is much more defensive than intended. He shrugs, shaking his head.  
“The feeling could be you, it could be our bond, I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m still incredibly worried about things moving too fast for either of us to be comfortable.” I step up to him now, my hand grabbing his. “I’m also a self proclaimed gentleman so I don’t want to see you nude if I’m not supposed to.” I smirk.  
“You could see me nude whenever you’d like. Actually, you’ve seen me topless!” My words come out a little too loud after remembering the night we fell asleep at his apartment. He had practiced bass for a while, I fell asleep, he woke me up and decided it would be a good time to have a fondle party.  
He chuckles, his expression morphing like he doesn’t want to laugh but can’t help himself.  
“I’m sorry. One day, we’ll figure this out.”  
“Yeah, sexual instigator, we’ll figure it out.” He laughs, face-palming.

I put on my daily makeup, he washes the dishes.  
While applying my eyeliner, he stands in the bathroom doorway.  
“You remember what I asked you last night, right?” I almost poke myself in the eye.  
“I do.”  
“You remember your response?” My head nods slowly, applying mascara now. “I thought we could go furniture shopping today.” Whipping my head to face him, my mouth hangs just ever so slightly open.  
“Yeah? I can get a rug and a headboard? Oh! Maybe we could paint!” He throws his hands up, eyebrows raised.  
“One thing at a time, pretty lady.”

The guys arrange an early practice. They’re done by three. Michael and I go to the least shady furniture store we can find in town. 

“What’s wrong with this table?”  
“The stain is too orange, the wood grain is terrible and it’s too tall to sit at comfortably.”  
“How is this too orange?! It will match the rest of the kitchen!”  
“It will conflict with the colors you have established!”  
“How do you know what would conflict with what?!”  
“I’m a fucking graphic designer!”  
It’s the first time I walk away angry from Michael. I assume he’s still standing at the terrible table while I lay face up on one of the dozens of mattresses in the store. A sales woman was walking toward us when the squabble happened but I’m sure she’s back where she came from now. Five minutes or so later, I hear footsteps approaching me. A figure stands just slightly in my view. When they don’t speak immediately, I assume it’s Mikey.  
“You have a set of furniture in your house already that already looks quite uniform. Deep brown stain, stainless steel. If you want to vary from that, feel free.” My eyes stay locked onto the flickering florescent light above me. The other side of the mattress sinks.  
“You have better taste than I do.”  
“It’s your house, Mikey. Your money, your decisions.”  
“You’ll be there more than I will.”  
“Are you buying me furniture, then? Is that what this is?” I’m sitting up now, turning to face him.  
“I don’t know. Maybe?”  
“Our tastes are different.” He shakes his head.  
“My furniture was picked out for me by Milly. She said it suited me. I wanted the couch, that was it.” I knew that side table was hers.  
“You really don’t know how to do the whole adult thing, huh?” He scoffs, shaking his head. I hear more footsteps from behind us but don’t turn around, can’t be bothered.  
“Hey, guys, can I help you with anything?” The voice, a voice I haven’t heard in years, sucker punches me in the stomach. I feel my body freeze, tense and sick.  
Michael, being the polite guy that he is, tears his eyes from me to speak to the man.  
“I think we’re okay.”  
“We’re having a big sale on dining room sets! I saw the two of you looking at the Quartermen set a few minutes ago. It’s been a-” as he continues talking, my brain is screaming no while my body turns to face him.  
It’s been years since I’ve seen or heard him.  
I was sixteen. He was twenty.  
Scott. Scott Jamison. I called him Scotty. I screamed Scotty when he was forcing himself inside of me. When he looks at my face, there’s instant recognition.  
I suppose you never forget the face of one of your victims.  
Before he has a chance to walk away, I force him to speak to me.  
“Hello Scott.” My heart pounds. Vomit threatens to come up my throat. I stand, showing more that I am able to face him without fear…with some resolve.  
“E-Estelle. You’re back in Newark?” I nod, my mouth forming a slight scowl. “That’s great!” His fake enthusiasm makes me actually want to vomit but on him. Preferably on his face.  
“It’s something different from Manchester.” He nods, eyes darting around.  
“Still friends with Ezmarelda?” I nod, a smile forming on my face. It might be fake but I’m confident in my reaction.  
“Of course, mate. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear that I ran into you. She’s in the market for some new pieces. I’ll tell her to come see you.” Scott, once being a good friend of Ezra’s, has received dozens of brutal tongue lashings by countless people because of Ezra.  
When I did go to the police, they had no way of proving he did anything. Too much time had passed for any kind of DNA samples. My testimony alone couldn’t hold up any charges.  
I think at one point, Ezra stabbed him in the leg with something? A pen? They had one required class at their college together. He had failed it several times.  
I study the man for a moment.  
Paunchy, balding, terrible fashion sense…and married.  
“Oh, you’re married.” I gesture to his left hand. ‘“Kids?” His face blanks.  
“Uh…two.” My expression has steeled when my next words come together in my head. I have to say them or else I will regret it. My body leans in, eyes narrowing.  
“It’s a good thing it’s not three, innit?” All of the blood leeches from his face. The cutest smile I can muster grows on my face. “Have a great day, Scott. Enjoy selling your terrible dining room sets.” I turn away from him. Michael is standing at this point, watching me intently. Our hands meet and intertwine as we walk away from the man and out of the store.  
It isn’t until we’re in the car when I break down.  
Hands and words do little to soothe me. I cry for twenty minutes with no explanation.  
Michael doesn’t ask for one.  
He drives to a gas station. While he’s inside, I try to clean my face up slightly. I’m able to take a steady breath, at least.  
He returns to the car, handing me a small bag.  
“The Mellow Yellow is mine but everything else is for you.” The bag holds said Mellow Yellow, a cherry Coke, a pack of Reese’s Cups, a pack of menthol Marlboro Smooths and a new lighter.  
I have nothing but admiration for this man. Michael drives to a nearly abandoned shopping center.  
We stand next to the car as I practically chain smoke. I haven’t smoked this much in months. I picked the casual habit back up once the bedrooms of Jemma’s house were empty. It terrified me.  
“Can I assume something?” He asks, beginning the inevitable conversation.  
“Sure.” With the drag on the cigarette follows a swig of Coke.  
“You’ve offhandedly mentioned something happening when you were a teenager.” I nod, glad that he’s the type to pay attention.  
“Younger, impressionable girl is introduced to older, then attractive, drummer in a punk band. Then follows the bad influences, bad habits,” my hand wiggles the cigarette. “After that follows the sexual pressure. At first, it was manageable. But he was a bit like Geoff. Can’t handle himself. The first time, I said no but didn’t really try to stop him. The second time, I screamed, cried and tried my damnedest to fight him off of me but he overpowered me.” Michael’s expression says concern. “That was the first time I’ve seen him since I was sixteen? I’ll always remember his voice, though.” I fight the thoughts, the memories of that night.  
“You’re such a strong person, Stella. You don’t give yourself any where near enough credit.” I try to muster a smile but can’t.  
“Can I borrow your mobile?” His brows quirk quickly but he hands me the phone. I dial Ezra’s number from memory.  
“Hey Mikey, what’s up?” She grunts a little, sighing heavily. Must be moving something.  
“Not quite.”  
“Oh, hey Stella. Can’t find your phone?” I halfheartedly scoff.  
“No, it’s in the car. I just couldn’t be buggered to get it.” Her scoff mirrors mine. “I saw Scott.” I hear something bang on the other end. Frank, I’m assuming because it sounded a little like his high pitched whine, yells something.  
“Where?”  
“Danny’s Discount Furniture, you know it?” She makes the ‘nuh-uh’ sound. “Michael and I went to look around, for shits and giggles. He’s a salesman.” I imagine we wear the same expression. Flat but irritated. “Looks terrible…He’s married.”  
“What?” I nod to no one. Michael looks at me, confused. Ezra and I both know that what he did to me, he did to, at least, three other girls.  
“Has kids too. You’d be proud of me, though.”  
“You stood your ground with him?” The fight or flight instinct I have usually leans toward flight.  
“I asked him how many kids he has. He said two. I said ‘it’s a good thing it’s not three, innit?’” Her inhale is close to a gasp but then she laughs quietly. Very breathy, like the joke wasn’t actually funny.  
“You’re beautiful,” her voice quiet.  
“Thank you. Okay, sorry to bug you. Just had to let you know.”  
“You never bug me, silly.”  
“Get back to your huffin’ and puffin’.” She scoffs. Byes are exchanged. After I hand Michael his phone back, we return to our seats in the car.  
“He was her friend,” I say, my voice reserved. “She introduced us.” He takes the long way back to Jemma’s. “She’s felt guilty ever since. I mean, in Uni, I partied until I couldn’t remember weeks at a time so I wouldn’t feel his hands on my skin anymore. She, partially, feels some blame in that. We don’t talk about it because it’s something we both want to forget.” I look over at him, his eyes completely focused on the road.  
“I’m going to give you something you have deserved your entire life.” My eyes focus on my hands, playing with a button on my jacket.  
“What’s that, then?”  
“Some fucking respect, love, appreciation…patience…communication. A place where you feel safe and secure. I will never cross any of your boundaries. I’ll try my best not to, anyway.” I look up at him. His expression is the same but his knuckles are nearly white on the steering wheel.  
“I’ll try my best to never cross any of yours.”  
“You deserve to be treated like someone who matters.” The car stops at a red light. He finally looks back at me. “You matter too fucking much to me for anyone to ever put their hands on you ever again.” His intensity is almost frightening. A car behind us honks, making me jump. The stern expression turns back to the road. “You’re mine to protect now. To cherish and to hold and all of that ridiculous shit.” Mikey’s just gone on a tangent now but his words make my stomach warm. The blush creeps up my neck slowly, like a disease spreading. “I believe that what happens in your life molds and forms you into the person you become. I admire you every fucking day. No part of me wants to change anything about you. Not even your argumentative side.” I smirk, still watching him. “But how dare that asshole! You were a kid, a young woman. Whatever innocence you had, whatever self worth you had, he stripped it away. Drugs and alcohol filling the void, I know that shit. I’ve done it. For years, I did anything I could to keep whatever fucking demons I had at bay. Finally, I made the decision to fight back…because I had help. You didn’t have anyone!” His exclamation makes me jump slightly. His words hit me far too hard. “Your family pulled you away from whatever support system you had established here. Years of damage that other people, other men have done to you only compiles, snowballs into this big mess of anxiety and doubt in every aspect of yourself.” He manages to find a spot near Jemma’s. He grabs my hand, sweat in both of our palms. “I can’t change what’s happened. I can’t change you, I don’t want to. I want to be the positivity your life needs, Estelle. Your reinforcement. Your art, your style, your choice in furniture. You’re brilliant and beautiful and so fucking clever.” A tear or two falls down my cheek. “I want to be what you need because I need you so badly.”  
Some might call it feverish or manic. I’d probably call it passionate.  
The passersby on the street might look into Michael’s shit Toyota and judge us on such a public display of affection. Can’t be buggered.  
I don’t know when I ended up in his lap but I’m there. With every touch of our lips, I feel the sadness drain out of me. My chest is filled with his affection. My brain is swimming in the love he’s drowning me in.  
I’m not sure how much time has passed when I hear a tap on the driver’s side window. A cop, middle aged and over weight, stands on the other side. Michael pushes the button for the window. As it slides down, the officer smiles at us.  
“Anything I can help you kids out with?” What a not so subtle attempt at subtlety.  
“Maybe, officer.” I nod, his eyebrow raises. “I seem to be stuck.”


	19. Chapter 19

It’s while the boys are out of town when Ezra and I take care of things at Jemma’s now empty house. Inspectors come by; the terrible realtor shows up too. There’s idle chitchat, papers looked over, bills given and final dates set. Everything in the house has to be done next Friday, the sixth of April.   
Because I have been promised help by every guy in our group tomorrow, I leave the hardest task to Ezra and myself today.  
Painting my bedroom.   
We spend time staring at the walls, remembering why every mark exists. She’s made several of them herself. Many of the marks refer to songs, most of them are played through the speakers she brought over to help fill the space with noise. Ezra has this keene sense that silence scares me, even though we’ve never actually discussed it.   
While our songs play, we put down the plastic painters tarp to cover the floors. The color I picked for every wall in the house (Jemma left that up to me) is a very neutral light grey. The undertones are blue, like my heart.   
Ezra leaves the first stroke of the roller to me. The anxiety I felt as more and more of the walls are covered fades. Knots in my stomach relax after what feels like years.   
“This is me…this is us…quietly saying goodbye to what we once were.” My words come out mumbled, mostly because I thought they would stay in my head. She stops for a moment.  
“This is us greeting the future with open arms.” We share a look, the same crooked smile. Slowly, the black ink is covered. Layer after layer, hiding the shame, guilt, naivety, arrogance and self-loathing I lived with.  
Once we’re happy with the coverage of the paint, the sun has gone down.  
She makes me Alfredo at her house. We watch a musical. I fall asleep on her couch.   
The next day is comprised of Robert and Ray patching up holes in Oli’s room, Frank and Ezra detailing the kitchen, Geoff and Milly cleaning up some baseboards and window sills and Michael and I touching up paint where we see it needs to happen.   
A conversation reverberates through the empty house.  
“Rob, you have to come.”  
“Your parents will be there. It’s like a family thing, right?”  
“We’re going to be there!”  
“You’re practically their brother, Frank.”  
“My mom is coming too, Rob.”  
“Ray’s going!”  
“What time does it start again?”   
“What time does it start, Milly?”  
“How many times do I have to say six? You people are the worst.” Most of us laugh.   
Our lunch break is delivered pizza and fizzy drinks sipped from the remaining red plastic cups. All of us sit around on the floor of the living room in some sort of pizza worshiping circle.   
“Whew, these fumes are getting to me.” Milly fans in front of her face. Instantly, I’m worried about her unborn child.   
I’m assuming the look on my face might be a tell to Ezra.   
“We can open the windows if you want, Mil. Might help.”  
“No, it’ll get too cold. Don’t do that for my sake. I can just go stand outside for a bit.”   
“I’ll go with you,” Geoff says while standing, “you can have my coat if you get cold.” The smile they share is the most effortless, loving thing I’ve seen either of them do.  
As the front door closes, Ezra and I make eye contact. Her brows furrow at me, practically yelling ‘what was that?’ at me. I gather a few bits of trash, heading to the kitchen. Of course, she follows suit.   
“You got a bit worried there, over the paint fumes.” Her hushed mumbles make my face flair red. “Don’t tell me she’s pregnant because I notice her belly getting bigger and she hasn’t gained a pound since I’ve known her.” My head whips around, giving her the most wide eyed look. “Plus, they were at the house last week. She puked three times while they were there. Geoff just wouldn’t get the hint that they needed to go home so she could rest. I had to kick them out.” The expression on my face shifts to stern, along with my best grandma pointing finger directed at her face.  
“I’m not telling. However, if I were to, I would say that only three of us, other than her, know. You assumed, I confirmed, Michael overheard.” Our expressions match, I’m sure. “Also assume that Robert has figured it out.” I shrug. “He’s a quick little bugger, for sure.” She nods, standing up straight with her arms crossing over her chest.  
“What the fuck are we going to do?”   
“Not any of us know. Oh, also, I’m the only one she’s told. Michael hasn’t said anything.”  
“I’m surprised he hasn’t. He’s quite the chatty cathy.”  
“Who’s chatty?” Speak of the devil.  
“You are, apparently.” I turn to him, smiling. His confused blinking makes me chuckle. “You know that thing you overheard but wasn’t supposed to?” One of his hands touches his stomach, I nod. “She figured it out.”  
“Fuck.” I nod again, shrugging.  
“What are we gonna do, guys?” Ezra sighs, her question sitting in the air like a weight on the three of us.   
“Hope for the sodding best.”   
We return to our previous tasks. At one point, I end up helping Rob while Ray and Michael, the taller guys, clean out light fixtures. As I help him place the self-adhesive mesh tape over one of the several holes in the wall, my mouth lets word vomit fall out.  
“Moving in with him now is too soon, right?” We both pause. I turn to look at his face, gauge his reaction. Indifferent.   
“You think you’re at the point in your relationship where you’d be comfortable doing that?” I shrug.  
“I’d have my own room.” His mouth quirks, slightly doubtful. “He’s been staying with me here.” For some reason, my brain changes courses. “You have to come to the dinner.”  
“I don’t have to do anything, woman.” We both chuckle quietly. Our hands move back to the project at hand. The putty knife he holds quickly scrapes the plaster over the tape with precise movements.   
“I’d say,” he begins after several quiet moments, “if you both are happy, feeling good about how things are going…Do it.” I smile, somehow feeling completely at ease. Why does Rob have this effect? No clue. I’m not going to question it, however, because why should I?  
Ezra, when the move was mentioned, almost flipped on me. She very nearly went full batty.   
“I thought you were going to stay with me!”   
“While the idea had been discussed, we haven’t settled on anything. Plus, you guys need your office.”  
“For what? Working at home?” She scoffed.   
“You guys have too much in that extra room for me to stay there.” She rolled her eyes, her head shaking.   
“Can you just admit to me that you are perfectly okay with living with him after…two months of dating?” I shrugged, trying to find a legitimate reason wanting to stay there…You know, other than the constant need of him nearby.  
“He has a spare room he doesn’t use. He will be going on tour in a few weeks. He needs a legitimate reason to keep paying his utilities.” As the reasons came up, they fell out. “His place is closer to the studio; we can carpool. I think if we were to live together, we would be at each other’s throats constantly.”   
Eventually, she gave in. We all agreed, Michael, Ezra and I, that leaving some of my stuff there would be a good idea. For appearances, anyways.   
The idea is to inform the gang of the going-ons at the family dinner, the one Rob is refusing to go to.  
It’s everyone and their parents, pretty much. Well, the Day parents and Frank’s mum. I’m hoping for a good time. I haven’t met the parents Day.   
Rob and I finish up the rest of the holes relatively quickly. He keeps cracking terrible jokes that I have to resist laughing at. Soon after, everyone decides to call it quits. The house, other than a quick clean up of the floors, looks completely finished. Chemicals float in the air, making the house smell toxic. Someone suggests dinner as a group but Frank and Ezra turn it down. Rob has important, single man business to attend to tomorrow, or so he says. Ray has to go see his girlfriend. Geoff and Milly are tuckered out. Everyone goes about their collective days.   
“I appreciate your help, guys. You lot are the best a girl could have” I say as everyone dons their coats for the cold outside, “April fools.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T CHA JUST LOVE THAT FILLER THO


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: sex, forced kiss?

Tonight is my first real night at Michael’s…well our apartment, in my own room. He didn’t want to turn on the heat, so bought me an electric blanket for my bed. I have washed my bed clothes, sorted out my pillows and have had the electric blanket on for at least twenty minutes. Michael comes, standing in the doorway while I fidget around my new room, rearranging things in the closet, moving candles around on my chest of drawers, sighing at the art placement on the walls. At some point, I stop. My arms hang slack by my sides, defeated.  
“You can come sleep with me, you know.” I shake my head, refusing to look at him. No part of me wants to give in to that.   
“I have to be able to do this, Michael. You’ll be gone for months soon.” I look over at him then. His shape is lost in his loose t-shirt. The hem of his boxers hits mid thigh. I am then inspired to ask him things I haven’t yet. The thought of the tour makes me feel incredibly anxious. A conversation would help…probably. “Come sit down for a moment, yeah?” He nods, moving to the bed. He sits, looking at me expectantly. My body has positioned itself a few feet in front of him.   
“Do you like touring?” His brows furrow, confused, but he doesn’t question it.   
“It’s hard sometimes but it’s fun.” I nod.  
“You like playing, obviously.” He nods. “So, that’s the fun part, I’m sure.” Again, he nods, shrugging.  
“Being away from home, the constant need to go go go, no real personal space…Those are the hard times.” I stand quietly, biting on the inside of my lip.  
“How many girls have you slept with?” We both raise our eyebrows at the same time, thrown off. What a terrible way to segue that conversation, Stell. He clears his throat some, thinking.  
“Uh…five.” I expected a higher number, honestly.  
“Counting any sexual act?” He scoffs, nodding. “Counting me?” He nods again, his face becoming more concerned now.  
“Five for me, also. Counting you. Two were actual sex.” Now that he knows one of those was an assault, I don’t much want to count it.   
“Why are you asking, Stella?” When my gaze locks onto his knobby knees, I feel myself shutting down. “Are you worried about how things will be while I’m gone?” My mouth refuses to move. “Do…Do you think I’m some sort of blatant rockstar douchebag who uses groupies while having a girlfriend at home?” He pauses. “A girlfriend that I proposed to two weeks in, mind you.” I can’t keep the crooked smile off of my face. Our eyes meet again. He looks terribly worried.   
“I’m just anxious about the whole thing, Michael. I’m afraid of what I’ll do here. I don’t want to go into this weird, drinking spiral.” He looks down at his lap, his hands awkwardly trying to keep themselves occupied.   
“Your obligations at work…and Ezra won’t let that happen.”   
“I’ve done it and no one knew. For months.” The intensity in my voice makes me feel uncomfortable, too vulnerable. I see him move to stand but he hesitates.   
“I’ll hold you accountable.” Eyes wide, I stare at him confused. “We’ll talk every day, obviously. I’m not going to go a day without speaking to you. I can’t do that now when we live together.” My feet move my body closer to him, standing in between his legs. He looks up at my face, a small smile on his lips. Our hands touch softly, lazily. “You wouldn’t lie to me about something like that, would you?” I consider it for a moment. Would the lie cover me in guilt? Of course. Would it be enough guilt to break me down? Probably. More than likely.   
“No, I wouldn’t. The guilt would wear me down so quickly.” He nods.  
“Like I couldn’t do something I know you wouldn’t like and lie about it to you. For example, popping a couple of Oxycontin before a show. Which I used to do…a lot.” My now cold fingers reach up, gently tracing his jawline. The stubble tickles my fingertips.   
“You really hate touring, don’t you?” My whispered words make his mouth twist in a way that tells me I’m right.   
“I signed up for this,” he whispers back. His arms wrap around my torso tightly, hugging my body to his. My fingers play with his hair. The dark brown mess has grown so quickly. His bangs touch his eyebrows now. Sideburns and hair meet in pointed tips by his jaw.  
“Gonna get it cut before you leave?” I feel like if my words came out at normal volume now, we’d both jump. Whispers are what we do best, I think. He shrugs, still practically squeezing me.   
“Maybe a trim.” Muffled words spread hot breath through my shirt and onto my belly, giving me the chills. I pull away from him, adjusting his face as to give him a kiss.  
“Need to go to sleep, darling, I have work in the morning.” Those terrible album covers can’t design themselves. The bands think they can, though. He kisses me again as we begin to separate.   
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” My brows furrow. “Gonna practice some.” I nod. He kisses me again, a hand sliding over my bum as we awkwardly hug.   
My bed, while warm, feels cold.   
With the door pushed to, I hear the bass strings slap quietly. I recognize the big single from their album, the ballad, in the notes he plays. With a sigh, I immediately wish I had told him to stay.   
I lay in bed for an hour, dozing in and out of sleep. The bass notes have me nearly lulled until they stop.  
When I hear the creak in the stairs, I know he’s headed to bed.  
When I hear the my bedroom door hinge strain, I smile. I move some, offering him more room beside me.  
Our bodies mesh together like he should have been here the entire time anyway.  
His face burrows into the back of my neck. I sigh.  
“Can’t sleep?” He whispers, his breath giving me goosepimples.  
“You knew I couldn’t.” The scoff I hear makes me want to elbow him in the ribs. Instead, I grind my backside against him, shaking my head. “Don’t rub it in, you bastard.”   
I wake up in the same position as I fell asleep, the alarm clock blaring.   
It takes me nearly twenty minutes to pry myself away from Michael.  
It takes me nearly twenty minutes to pry Michael off of me, rather. He argues and complains.  
“Don’t be an adult. I’ll pay for everything.” My eyes close, very heavily considering that option for my life.   
“Be a trophy wife? Cook and clean in the nude? Wear blonde wigs because that gets me pushed up against walls?” His eyebrows raise while his eyes remain closed.   
“Sounds pretty good to me.”  
“What will I do with all of my talent, then?” I pull up my skirt while his arms wrap around me. What a whiney hinderance this man is.   
“Design shirts for us. We’ll pay you. I’ll even get you anything you need to do it.” My body turns in his arms, facing him. In the night, he took off his shirt because my electric blanket was too warm for him. I feel his light, patchy chest hair against my hands.  
“Ezra got me this job, Michael. I can’t just walk away from it now.” He raises his eyebrow, with sass. “What if I need a recommendation?! What’s the point of the bloody degree if I don’t use it!”   
“You know how many people have degrees and can’t find jobs? Or don’t work in their field of study? Housewives don’t need degrees,” he pauses for a moment, bracing himself. “Plus, your parents paid for it anyway, right? It’ll be like a big ‘fuck you guys’ if you don’t use it.” I groan, throwing my head back. “Be an artist,” he begins while his hands move lower down my back. “Do what you love,” his hands cup my bum. “Be whatever you want to be, Estelle.” He pushes me against his hips. I have to stop myself from exhaling in a way that shows I’m weak, tempted by his attempt at seduction. “Just stay home. Stay with me.” We stand there, pelvises practically melding together. I feel his bulge now pressing firmly against me.   
“I hate you,” I mumble, defeated by what I would probably call lust. He smirks, his hands squeezing me. “I hate you so much.” 

“Hey, Beth! Sorry, I know I’m late. I’ve been up and down with a stomach bug all night. I finally got a little bit of rest and over slept.” I stare at Michael with an annoyed face as he lays on my bed, blanket thrown over his naked pelvis and legs. The only reason I’m even having this phone call is because I’m going to destroy him. “I don’t know what could be causing it. Maybe it’s the pizza from Mama’s.” She tells me to stay home for the day, agreeing that Mama’s pizza is a terrible idea. “I’ll be sure to work on those two covers today while I’m here. I have the files on a drive.” She’s delighted to hear that. Beth even tells me that I can stay home until I’m feeling better, offering to send me files back and forth for other projects.   
My phone is placed with effort on my side table.   
We discussed this, I think to myself, nothing too far for both of our sakes.   
I toss the blanket back with gusto, the morning light shining through the windows. Sunshine beats down on his bare body.  
He told me to keep my panties on, I think to myself, as to keep from going too far.  
His expression is calm, at ease, even though this is the first time I’ve been allowed to see him naked. It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to do anything to him at all with skin on skin contact.   
I take full advantage of it.   
He tastes like salt mixed in with the smell of his soap, which reminds me of the smell of his bedroom. His eyes watch me as I devour him. Hands ball into fists in my hair.   
As I begin to realize what he likes and what he really likes, I remember that I haven’t done this in months.   
I do my best to make this last as long as I can.  
My lack of a gag reflex makes itself known rather quickly, though.  
Our eyes meet. He is flushed red, lips open with heavy breathing.   
When I hear him croak out ‘fuck,’ I know I’m doing my job correctly.   
Like a gentleman, he gives me some forewarning before the big finish.  
“Swallow it,” his voice is thick.  
I adore this man.  
I do as I’m told. The flavour isn’t terrible so I’m not upset about the task.   
When he pulls me up for a kiss, I am surprised at his willingness to taste himself.   
I’m also surprised when he stays hard.   
It’s a fight for both of us to keep my panties on. We lose that fight but promise each other in whispers that nothing bad will happen.  
Like a gentleman, he returns the favor.   
There was one boy I went out with a few times while I was in Uni. He loved going down on me. We never had sex but he practically begged me to have a go at my snatch. It was a fetish of his, I’m assuming. He wasn’t very good at it, though.  
Michael isn’t disappointing. In fact, I’m enjoying myself to the nth degree.  
When he pushes my knees up to my chest, I practically lose it. I’m nearly spent when he pulls away. My hands, grubby greedy hands, reach for him, wanting him. He smirks, staring up at me. I know I’m lobster red, my hair is a mess and I’m sweating. What a terrible angle to see me in.  
“Hold your legs.” The same thick voice commands. Again, I do as I’m told. I am a people pleaser…well, I please the people I want to please. Mostly just Michael, if we’re being honest. With my hands on the backs of my thighs, we stare at each other for a moment.   
My breathing begins to slow when I feel his finger slide inside of me.   
Soon, it’s two then three. This is much more, so much more, than the experience at the China King. That was child’s play in comparison to this actual finger bang I’m experiencing.   
There is nothing gentle about this onslaught of sensations. I fight to keep my noises to myself. There are two very close by family members who are unaware of my being here. Their bedroom is on the opposite side of mine.   
When he does allow me the privilege of coming, it makes my legs convulse for what seems like an hour afterwords.   
Our naked bodies end up entwined at some point. He’ll place kisses on my forehead, jaw or neck.   
“I’m disappointed in the lack of vocals on your part, ma’am.” His voice has almost returned to normal. My laugh is soft, breathy.   
“Well, didn’t want to wake the neighbors.” He then realizes that his brother and wife are on the other side of the wall. Of course, it’s insulated but one does worry. He pulls away, looking immediately concerned. “You weren’t loud, love. Even if you were, it’s probably been a while since you had a little bit of a wank, huh?” His scoff through that fucking crooked smile gets me. We kiss for a few minutes, then.   
Both of us agree to no round two. Doesn’t go as planned, however.   
We individually take showers. Him first, though, because I wanted a moment alone.   
Mostly to call Ezra.  
It rings twice.  
“Why aren’t you here? I came by to bring you a muffin and Beth said you were sick.”   
“I am sick. Totally sick. Been puking out my bum all night.” She laughs.  
“Okay, liar. I bet you got sweet talked into calling out.” My eyes roll.   
“Yes, obviously. I got seduced, actually.”   
“What?!” I had talked with Ezra on several occasions about Michael’s lack of sexual advances…that was up until not terribly long ago, however. Now, it feels like every two seconds. Maybe not that much.   
“Yeah, got groped while trying to get dressed.” She makes an exaggerated ‘ooh’ sound. “Had a little bit of a morning romp.” She scoffs. “I called mostly to ask if you think he’d be good at, uh…havin’ a go at my…uh…” Saying the words makes me feel completely embarrassed.   
“I think he’s others oriented. He’d for sure want to please you before himself.”  
“That doesn’t answer my question.”  
“I’m sure he’d be okay at it.”  
“Yeah, it was alright.” She laughed.  
“If you’re calling me, it was more than alright. I remember those stories about…fuck, what was his name? Allen? He can’t be any worse than Muncher McGee.” I had forgotten our nickname for the Uni boy.   
“My legs are still shaking.”  
“Fuck, dude, don’t call me immediately after.”  
“Excuse me, ma’am, but I do believe you have answered the phone mid-coitus.” I can tell she has to muffle her laugh.   
“So, did you do anything to him?”   
“Oh, the ol’ spit-shine, you know.” We both chuckle.   
“I’ve heard you’ve got some talent at that.”  
“I dabble.” We snicker the exact same.  
“Oh, something else. You’ll hate me.”  
“You’re secretly married.”  
“Not yet. I got offered a job.”  
“You’re kidding.”  
“No…a job offered by one Michael Day. Design their merch, don’t be an adult with responsibilities. He’ll pay for everything. You know, my dream job…Trophy wife.”  
“Let’s wait and see how you like being the trophy wife of a guy who constantly lives on the road.”  
I let her get back to work. The bathroom door opens. Michael comes back into my room. A towel hangs loosely from his hips.   
“I don’t believe your clothes are in here, Mr. Day.” He shakes his head, a hand running through his wet hair.  
“You’re in here. I wanted to see what you looked like after the sweat dried.” My expression is fake offended.   
“How’s my hair?” I stand, the shirt I wore to bed now back on my body. The panties are MIA.   
“Throughly wrecked.” He winks at me. Winks at me!   
“You better be glad I like you. I wouldn’t put up with any of this sass from anyone else.” Michael, with his cocky sassy attitude, smirks at me then. I brush past him, yanking off his towel to use it myself. My bum gets slapped, harder than normal. 

Our day is spent with me on the couch, working on the ridiculous album covers I have been assigned. Michael sits next to me, practicing his parts on his bass. Occasionally, we’ll share a few words. At some point, he turns on the telly for some background noise. A rerun or two plays of a cartoon about a family with an alien living in their attic. There’s also a talking goldfish.   
I finish the proofs for both album covers and inside inserts, with emails to Beth before 2pm. She’s the middle man for the bands and myself. I told her I didn’t want the stress of them contacting me constantly. Especially not in this house selling process.   
My laptop is placed on the coffee table next to our discarded plates from our late breakfast. Toast and coffee. We’re functioning adults, right?   
He plays the same song three times before I say anything.  
“You have to know those back and forth by now, right?” He shrugs, sighing. The bass is then propped up against the coffee table.   
“You’re not annoyed by that, right?” I shake my head quickly.  
“No, no, of course not. If you need the practice, do it. It just sounded right to me, all of the notes.”   
We curl up on the couch eventually. A movie plays on the telly, something about a man being hypnotized into enjoying his life. An office job can’t be that terrible.   
It’s half past four when we seem to be at it again.   
I’m straddling Michael, our faces glued together when the door opens.   
“Hey Mike-Woah.” Milly. Fuck. I pull away slowly, looking down at his face. Embarrassment with a hint of a smile.  
“New rule,” I barely whisper, “lock the door.”

We gathered in the kitchen. I wash the dishes, Michael and Milly sit at the counter.   
“I knew something funny was going on between you two.”   
“Oh really? Is it obvious?” My sarcasm leaks through.   
“Not really…I mean, I knew Mikey was always at your place. He talks about you a lot.” I turn from the sink, looking at him. He shrugs, his expression playful. “Not in a bad way or anything! I just figured you guys were becoming friends and he liked you.”  
“You have great taste in music and you’re funny.” Michael says then, making me flush red. “Plus, she’s got a great ass.” Milly chuckles awkwardly, I guffaw.   
“I saw you eyeballing me at Ezra’s wedding.”   
“I saw him doing it too!” Michael laughs. “No, I did! I immediately thought ‘this girl is for sure his type.’ Of course, his track record wouldn’t say that.” I put down the mug I was trying to focus on, turning around to face the two of them.   
“What’s my type then, Milly?”  
“You’ve got a huge thing for Lucille Ball.” His face burns red, then. I want to laugh but resist the urge. “Look at Estelle! She’s got the eyebrows, those red lips, the blue eyes and her hair color is pretty much spot on.” I turn back to the sink, picking up the mug I was trying to wash before. The grin on my face won’t fade. “Have you seen his DVD collection, Stella? He’s got every I Love Lucy collection he could find online. Mikey’s a sucker for a sassy, funny redhead. I’d bet money on it.” My chuckles make their way out of my chest then.   
“It’s a good thing I’ve kept all of my gingham dresses to myself then, isn’t it?”   
After tea is made, I take Milly up to my room. Her reaction to my belongings in the room is surprised confusion.   
“I thought you were going to stay with Ezra?”  
“Everyone thought that I was going to stay with Ezra. They’ll continue to think that, too, for as long as we can manage the facade.” I turn to her then. She fiddles with a knickknack on my chest of drawers. “I have to tell you something.” Her eyes look my way while she continues to nervously tinker with the Nebraskan snow globe. “Michael knows.” A defensive expression faces me then. My hands go up, white flag. “He overheard the day after the bar show. I thought he was still passed out. I had to convince him to keep things to himself. It’s none of our business to share.” She exhales, relieved. “Ezra knows too.” A whiplash of emotions crosses her face. “I didn’t tell her. She assumed. She saw my expression about the paint fumes yesterday. I was concerned, as were you. She said something like ‘don’t tell me she’s pregnant because I’m noticing her belly get a little bigger.’” Her hand rests protectively over her growing belly. She’s carrying low, from what I can tell. Her usual mess of straps and skirts has been replaced by Geoff’s hoodies and jeans. Her hair buzzed around the sides with a bit on top for bangs. The black has faded into an odd, muddy brown. It suits her better than the black did, for sure. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without makeup. Her complexion is more naturally tan than I realized. Her brown eyes seem young.   
“How old are you, Milly?”  
“Twenty-three.” I’m nearly shocked; she looks so much younger than me. From my late night conversations with Michael, I learned Geoff is turning thirty at the end of the month. “Twenty-four in August.”   
“And you want to start your family now?” A small smile settles on her face, her hand still resting on her stomach.  
“I’ve wanted Geoff’s baby since he told me he loved me.” It makes me sick, it’s so sweet.   
“You haven’t wanted to go out, experience the world with out Geoff?” She considers my question a moment.  
“Geoff is my world and I’ve seen most of it with him already.” Fight the urge to gag.   
“You’re so sentimental, it’s actually killing me. Please, kill it with fire.” She laughs.   
“So, can we make an agreement? Keep these things to ourselves until the time is right?”  
“How long can you two keep this a secret? It’ll be obvious soon enough.”   
“Until the family dinner. The plan is to tell everyone.”  
“Ezra and Frank know…I know…Does anyone else know?”  
“Rob. That intuitive bastard. Ray probably isn’t too interested in our personal lives or else I’m sure he would have figured it out my now too.”  
“So…just Geoff and I, then?”   
“Now you know…Just Geoff.”  
“Why?”  
“Michael.” We share a look that says we both know why. Their brothers, supposed to be best friends and mum’s the word when it comes to us.   
Geoff would be absolutely offended that we were dating, committed and living together before Michael even spoke a word of his attraction for me to him.  
For Mikey, I believe it’s because of that kiss.  
To Milly, it’s probably about the drugs. There has been some distance between the two brothers in the past few months because of the addiction.   
Instead of going to their flat, he would come to mine.   
Michael walks in the room then. Normal, every day clothes on instead of the lazy outfit he wore earlier.   
“I’m heading out, got a meeting with a friend.” My brows furrow. He hadn’t mentioned anything about any meeting but I have to let him have a social life…outside of our galavanting about.   
“Alright, Michael.” I offer my best smile, almost upset that he won’t be here. He picks up on it, scooping me into a hug before I can blink.   
“Won’t be long. It’s all business.” His lips move quickly against my ear while I nod. When we kiss, I’m embarrassed to be doing this in front of Milly.   
He hugs Milly before heading down the stairs.  
“Don’t forget your phone or keys!” I call out. The jingle of the keys makes me smile.   
“I’m sorry to abandon you too but I’ve gotta go check on Geoff.” She smiles with strained eyes. “He’s detoxing.”   
“Really?” My tone disbelieving. She nods, barely believing it herself.  
“He even said something about wanting to start a family last week. I haven’t mentioned a thing to him yet. It was something like ‘I know I’ve been a real fucker lately blah blah’ and he went on about loving me and seeing us with kids.” Her cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink. “He even went on about how he knew that I already had the names and design of the kids rooms planned out. Which, obviously, I do.” I chuckle, not being able to stand this relationship. Some might feel the same way about mine, though.   
“I hope it lasts. If you need me, any help cleaning him up or anything at all, I’m right next door.” I wink. She grins.  
I close the front door behind her, locking the deadbolt.   
Being here alone, I take the time to inspect everything.   
I find the DVD collection. His entertainment center has several cabinets. The bottom section is filled with movies. There is a Lucy shelf, as stated. Terrible 80s films, documentaries, a little comedy section…Quite possibly every Bruce Willis movie known to man.  
I put a movie on for noise but continue to go through things. Because my things take up what used to be a music/office space, his basses sit in a corner of the living room. Two of them are mounted on the wall. I know these are his show instruments because I’ve seen him play both of them live. There are three on stands, lined up in a row. He’s moved the record plaques to this side of the living room as well.  
In the short amount of time between me agreeing to stay here and me actually staying here, he did a lot of improvements. Mostly rearranging things so I feel comfortable.   
Michael made space in the entertainment center for my movie collection, which is quite small. He made room for my odd assortment of random clutter.  
He cleaned out half the medicine cabinet for me to take over. Some makeup lives there. Most of the products that I smear on my face are stashed away under my bed.   
I decide to not go through drawers on side tables. The movie makes my ears ring so I shut it off.  
My night is spent laying in Michael’s bed, scrolling mindlessly on my laptop. News article here, album concept art there, music playing softly through the speakers. I hear an odd sound, a rattling noise, that startles me.   
My phone!  
I retrieve the device from my room in a dash.  
“Hey, pretty lady!” Michael’s inebriated voice upsets me more than relieves me. Nearly five hours have passed by the time I receive this call.   
“Hi there. Glad to hear you’re still alive.” He laughs.   
“Of course! I’m calling to say that my friend is driving me home because I got a little too…”  
“Drunk.” I finish for him during his pause.   
“Yeah, drunk.” My tone was too harsh. He picked up on that. “We have a cab following us. I was wondering if you could help me pay the cab driver. Get the cash out of my wallet.”   
“Your friend can’t help?” He snickers.  
“Nope.”  
“You don’t trust your friend, I assume?”   
“Nope. Not at all.” My head shakes. Heading downstairs, I move to the door. No signs of life outside.   
“How close are you?   
“Uh…” He asks his friend. “Less than five minutes, he says!” Part of me is relieved that his friend is a guy.   
“Alright, Michael. I’ll see you soon then, okay?”   
“Okay,” his voice sounds sweet but still very drunk. I hang up, not wanting to continue the conversation. Still not a big fan of drunk Mikey. Especially when I’m sober and he’s been out drinking most of the night with friends.   
Try not to sound so bitter, Estelle.   
The cars pull up. I trod outside, a coat wrapped around my pajama clothed body. His friend parks in Mikey’s spot, getting out quickly to pull Mikey from the passenger seat. The cabbie has the car pulled to the curb. Meter running always.   
Michael and co walk up to me where I stand on the stairs into the entryway of the house.   
Both men offer polite smiles. Mikey’s is a bit exaggerated, however. The other man reaches his hand out to me, a handshake.   
“Estelle?” I nod, offering a smile. “Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Mark.”  
“Lovely to meet you, Mark.” I look to Michael. He can stand on his own, thankfully. My hand extends to Michael, waiting for his wallet. He does as he is silently asked. The leather is warm in my freezing hands. I tell Michael to go inside. He says bye to Mark with a tight hug. The stranger and I then walk to the cabbie.  
I ask him what’s on the meter now. I throw him two twenties out of Michael’s wallet and turn to Mark.   
“Have a ni-“  
“All he does is talk about you. If you have a spare minute tomorrow, call me. Use his phone. I’ve got a proposition for you.”  
“Who are you exactly?” Mark then moves, opening the backseat door.  
“Mark Collins, Sister To Sleep’s head of marketing.” My face must fall, my expression must be so funny that he chuckles at me. “Goodnight, Estelle.”   
When I close the front door behind me, Michael is standing beside the couch, leaning on the arm.   
“What took you so long?” His coat, shoes and pocket contents have been tossed in the floor. Can’t be buggered to pick it up now.   
“Was saying bye to Mark.” I’m annoyed at this man because he’s gone behind my back, had a meeting about me for something that I haven’t agreed to do. His wallet falls from my hand and onto the side table near the door with a thud.  
“Oh, alright.” Michael saunters over to me with an odd smile on his face. He’s so close to me now, I smell the beer on his breath. His arms wrap around my waist loosely. I want to shake them off.  
My anxiety has spiked. I want to run.  
“How did the meeting go?” I’m surprised by how even my voice comes out.   
“Pretty damn well.” He sounds smug. This awkward grin is Michael’s drunk grin. It very nearly makes me uncomfortable. Mikey doesn’t notice that I’m not hugging him back. When he goes in for a kiss, I don’t refuse him. I did miss him today. His closeness does not repel me, his intoxication does.   
Drunk men harass me. Consider my reaction some form of post-traumatic stress disorder.   
His second kiss is much more. I gently push him away, not wanting to go any further tonight with him. He frowns, going in for a third.   
“No,” I say as sternly as I can, voice shaking. His arms fall then as he takes a step back. My eyes stare, glare, at him as he tries to form the words he wants to say. I have no desire to hear them. “Goodnight.” My tone is still stern. He does not follow me or say my name. I’m thankful.   
I go to bed, my door closed.


	21. Chapter 21

I wake up the next day, promptly get dressed and call Ezra for a pickup. I stand outside and wait for her in the crisp air for ten minutes. There is no desire to see Michael yet today. She has a bagel for me, peanut butter already spread on it.   
“You’re a real gem, my love.” She tries to eat and drive.   
“Mikey didn’t want to take you today?” I shake my head.  
“I didn’t want him to.” Her ooh sound sound a bit too dramatic for the conversation.   
“A little domestic?” She tries to mimic my accent. I chuckle at her attempt.  
“Something like that. He went out with their merch rep, Mark, last night. They had some meeting about me or something. He came home absolutely mullered.” I keep the kiss part out of it. Don’t want to make it more than what it is.   
“Well then.” I nod. The car ride remains silent then.  
I work, don’t take a lunch break, and finish my day at five. Like a god damn responsible adult. Ezra and I ride home in relative silence, other than the radio. Anxiety spikes at the sight of his Toyota in the driveway. Luckily, Geoff and Milly’s car is absent. That doesn’t mean much, though.   
“Feel better, okay?” I nod, planting a small peck on her cheek.   
My hands try their best to open the door as quietly as possible. The sound of running water hits my ears. The door closes and the water stops. I brace myself for something, anything, while putting my things down on the side table. His belongings have been placed in the appropriate spots, thankfully. I left them where they were this morning.   
My feet refuse to move, screaming in the heels I decided to wear to work today. I wait for him to make the first move.  
He does.  
His body comes through the doorway into the kitchen and into view. The bags under his eyes make him look much more sallow then normal. His eyes also look puffy, like he’s been crying. He’s wearing normal clothes: tight pants, fitted v-neck t-shirt, no socks or shoes.  
Why would he be crying?  
We stare at each other for a moment.   
“How was work?” His voice croaks. I have to stop myself from going to him. I want to console him, ask him what’s wrong but I know full well what’s wrong with him.  
He knows he has fucked up.   
“It was the same boring adult responsible stuff I’m used to.” He almost cringes. “Mark told me who he was.” Michael’s shoulders sag. “He told me to call him today.” I take a step forward, voice more aggravated. “That he had a proposition for me…that I haven’t agreed to.” His eyes hit the floor. I don’t know how it happens but he looses even more color in his face. “Then, on top of that, I…I had to tell you to stop.” He squeezes his eyes shut.  
“It’s inexcusable.” His eyes remain tightly shut. “I promised you more than that and I’ve shit all over it.” The expression he wears changes. Disgust. “I’m sorry doesn’t cut it, really. I know, knew, what happens to you when men are drunk around you in one-on-one scenarios. Apparently, drunk me is jealous of men you don’t know talking to you for two fucking minutes outside without me. Sober me is jealous of any man. Sober and drunk me would fight tooth and nail for you to be safe.” His voice cracks slightly. I watch this man I care so much for begin to break down in front of me. “And I shit all over it. All over your fears and boundaries because I was jealous of a man you just met.” I watch him fight back tears. He has been thinking of this all day, feeling incredibly terrible and guilty over it. It doesn’t lighten much of the anger I feel but I want to console him so badly. He moves closer. My body doesn’t flinch.   
“You have to talk to me when you decide to make big life plans for me.” Whispers, always whispers. He stands close enough for me to grab his hand. I don’t.   
“Of course. It…it was just a discussion, talking about options.” More whispers. His glossy eyes look into mine for the first time in minutes. My anger somewhat subsides when I see how bloodshot his gaze is.   
“I didn’t realize you were so jealous all of the time.”  
“I told you…you’re mine.” I raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. My brain tries to fight itself while my hand lifts to his face, cupping his jaw. His sigh is staggered, upset. My cold hands feel like ice against his burning skin. “No more drinking.” He nods after he speaks, making the declaration seem more resolute.   
“Not even at shows?” His head shakes. My arm wiggles. I hug him then, arms around his neck. It feels as though my body sinks into his. “No drinking for me either.”  
“Accountability buddies,” he whispers into my ear. I chuckle quietly.   
We order delivery Thai, chicken pad Thai and chicken pineapple curry.  
We eat in his bed.  
We lay facing each other for a long time. I pet his face and hair while he holds me to him with one arm.   
We fall asleep in our clothes, on top of the blankets and in this position. One of us wakes the other at three to settle in until seven when I need to get up.   
“I’m sorry,” he whispers to me, our bodies now spooned in his bed.  
“You cried over it? Over what I might do?”  
“I’m terrified to lose you. I’m a dumbass to ever do anything that might make that happen.”   
“Thank you for finding me options, I suppose.”  
“I wanted it to be a surprise but got too carried away with the Newcastles.”  
“What kind of surprise?”  
“Like you meeting Mark at a friend gathering or something, you two talking about design ins and outs…Him already knowing some of your stuff…I don’t know.” He sighs. “He was willing to go along with it but he probably assumed me smashed wouldn’t hold up to the story…or something.”  
“Does he see you like Geoff in that respect?”  
“No. I was happy and decided to drink.” I nod, making the ‘ah’ sound. “Apparently, all I do is talk about you.” A small smile creeps up on my lips.   
“They’ll be sick of hearing about me when you lot are out on tour.” An idea gob smacks me then. “So, do you know the dates and locations yet?”

At work the following morning, I stop in to talk to Beth. We discuss the day’s projects, other side tasks and I ask her an odd question.  
“Can I make international calls from my office phone?” Her eyebrow quirks.  
“Client related?” My nod and shrug aren’t very believable. “Sure. I’m not footing the bill, the label is.” We share smirks.  
Back in my office, the door closed, I dial Oliver’s number. The time here is a quarter to ten. He should be awake by almost three in the afternoon.   
“Hello American number?” His chipper voice makes me smile.  
“Yes, American number calling during the day. It’s amazing we’re both awake right now.” His chuckle keeps the smile on my face.   
“How can your accent get so terrible so quickly? You sound more yank than when we lived there!”  
“I suppose it’s the lack of mum correcting how I pronounce things.” He scoffs.  
“She is a right burke, huh?” I scoff now, rolling my eyes at the thought of her. “Any particular reason for calling?” The telephone goes between my head and shoulder as I type away on my keyboard. I checked the dates this morning for their shows. Tickets went on sale for the European leg of the tour two days ago. I purchased, through the Manchester Arena’s website, two tickets. The most expensive ones I could get. Backstage access and all of it. I’m surprised that fans are allowed to do that. Meet and greets are something that happens, though. Manchester Arena is massive. I wonder how many mothers are scowling at their computer screens at this price.   
“I booked two tickets for a show at the end of May. Make yourself available.”  
“The date, please?” I hear him rifling around through papers.   
“Twenty-third.”  
“You flying me out?” He sounds cocky.  
“No, we’re going to the arena,” I say, hoping that he realizes I’m talking about Manchester Arena.  
“Ooh! You’re coming to see me, poppet?”  
“Yeah, just you, though. Maybe Gran…maybe Buster.”  
“You wanna break in and see the house they built for you too, I bet.” I’ve tried my best in the last few months to not think of it.   
“What’s it look like?” He groans.  
“You’d fall over for it.”  
“Damn.”   
“That’s what I said. I think they’re just waiting it out. How’s things in America, anyway? Feeling free now that you’ve been kicked out twice?” I sigh, slightly laughing.   
“I’ve got a place to stay. And I’m calling you from my super adult, legitimate job.”  
“What?!” His voice goes up too many octaves.   
“Yeah, degree using, anyway! My boyfr-“ I cut myself off there. I don’t want to get into the sordid details with Oli just yet about Michael.   
“Boyfriend?! You haven’t had one of those…in nearly a decade.” Oliver, though he’s a prat, was around for most of the Oscar and Scott nonsense.   
“Very true. Which is why I don’t want to talk about him. Don’t wanna jinx it.” He puffs out an exaggerated sigh.   
“Fine! Oh, who are we going to see?”   
“You’ve heard of them, I’m sure. Sister To Sleep.”  
“That’s not your cuppa.”  
“Normally, no. I feel obligated to go. Ezra’s beau is the rhythm guitarist. I’ve become friends with all of them. This way, I see a large production of theirs and visit my family. Two birds and all that.”   
“How long are you wanting to stay?” He sounds hopeful.  
“If you keep the trip to yourself, if we stay mostly in the city…maybe a week?”  
“Fantastic! I’ll settle the plans now. Let me know when I should pick you up. You leave everything to me, sister mine!”   
“Thank you, Oliver. I appreciate it.”  
“Of course. I’ll be delighted to see you.” He pauses for a moment. “At least tell me his name.” I sigh, smiling.  
“Michael.”   
“How boring.”


	22. Chapter 22

Michael waits in his car for me in the parking lot. I’m glad he’s a punctual chauffeur. Buster was utter shit. His smile when our eyes meet makes me swoon. As I flop into the passenger seat, he turns the radio down. I recognize the song immediately. One hand closes the door quickly, the other cranks the radio back up.   
When the chorus starts up, I sing along. My body might be too close to his while singing along.   
“Sailors fighting in the dance hall!. Oh man, look at those cavemen go! It’s the freakiest show! Take a look at the lawman beating up the wrong guy! Wonder if he’ll ever know he’s in the best selling show. Is there life on Mars?” Michael sings along with me at some point. The second verse starts up. We both sing along. Mikey has backed out of his parking spot. He pulls out onto the road but not in the direction I was expecting.  
I turn the radio down just a little.  
“Where are we headed?”   
“NYC. I’ll explain when the CD ends. Traffic should be a ball.” The next song begins.   
The Proclaimers. We sing along. My eyes roll constantly.  
I soon figure out during the congested traffic that this entire CD is a love letter…to me. It featured some disco, some punk, some more modern songs. The song by Billie Holiday was a treat. A Zeppelin tune was thrown in there too. I sang along to some, enjoyed just listening to others. When I rap along with Biggie Smalls, he’s not surprised.   
“I assumed you knew this.”  
“Really?”  
“You love east coast rap.” I sit back, not realizing that about myself. “Queen Latifah is your favorite, I think. You played ‘All Hail The Queen’ at least five times when we were packing up Jemma’s. Plus, she’s from Newark.” I knew that. I remember going to the local record shop as a teenager and buying the record I, apparently, play constantly.  
The Turnpike begins to wear my nerves thin.  
We’re to the Holland Tunnel by now. I want to pull my hair out.   
The last song on the CD is a STS song. A b-side, he tells me. I enjoy it. It’s faster, got more thrash than the rest of their newest album. 

Parking was an absolute nightmare.   
Michael is a smart man, however. For our walk, which he still won’t inform me of the destination, he brought me a pair of my flats. They match.  
“I remembered your outfit from this morning. I knew you wore that gray blazer I like.”   
He also managed to grab my coat.   
This man notices the oddest things.  
The store he takes me to is pretentious and filled with computers. There are dozens of people inside of it, however, looking around. It’s two story.   
Apple.  
“Why are we here?” We stare mindlessly at a display. I see him shrug out of the corner of my eye.   
“Might pick something up.”  
“For who?” He shrugs again.  
“Stop buying me expensive things!” My whisper is spit out through closed teeth. He smirks.   
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking the time.   
“Come on, gotta catch reservations.”   
“R-Reservations? What?” The walk is quick, crowded. Our arms stay linked. I might panic if they didn’t.   
I’m glad he grabbed my nice coat.  
When we reach our destination, the door opens for us. We are greeted by a younger man who sounds far too chipper for the job he has.  
The quiet but collective murmuring of patrons overwhelms me.   
Michael does all of the dealings with the maître d’, confirming our reservation and table. We’re seated promptly after our we have our coats checked.   
Our coats checked!  
It’s a posh French restaurant and bar.   
We’re in Manhattan having dinner at a ridiculous, expensive restaurant…that he planned ahead for.   
While both tempted by the wine menu, we avoid it. Accountability buddies.   
I get the onion soup. He gets steak frites. In the time it takes for the food to arrive, we have idle chit chat. I crack a few jokes, he chuckles at them. When the foods served, he decides to start into the reason of being here…after I prompt him, of course.   
“So, reservations?” Michael’s bashful smile makes my chest flutter.  
“Yeah. Thought it would be a good idea last weekend.”  
“You made these reservations last weekend?” This is me getting incredibly nervous about his intentions. He’s paying nearly twenty dollars for a bowl of soup for me. Hands absentmindedly prod and stir food while eyes stay locked together.   
“I did. After the purchase I made, I knew I’d be back today.” The lump in my throat grows like the Grinch’s heart.   
“The purchase you made…while you were here working?” He nods. “What was it, exactly?” The look on his face says that he’s expecting my reaction. This isn’t what I think it is because it shouldn’t be. I’ve spent two months completely smitten by this man. Two months.   
Two months also filled with emotional trials and tribulations.  
Michael digs around in the pocket of the casual black sport coat he wears.   
A light blue box with a thick white ribbon bow is placed in front of me.   
My father used to give me these as I grew up. Every year, normally around my birthday, I would get a new necklace or bracelet. Once, I got a pair of massive diamond ear rings. Never wore them, though. Have ‘em in my room at Michael’s…In my room at home.  
There’s no possible way that he knows I have a collection of jewelry from Tiffany’s. There’s no possible way he knows that this ridiculously expensive store is my favorite jewelry store. The only person who knows that is my father.   
Our eyes go from the box to each other’s faces for a quiet moment.   
“I picked this up earlier today. Took the train. We should take the train more often.” I scoff. No matter what I tell my body, my hands refuse to move.   
There is a large section of my brain that wants to squeal, throw whatever pretenses I have away and wear this expensive item forever. That is not the side that wins out. Even though I am being presented with a gift, I am very nearly furious.  
He must pick up on this. His hand moves, covering the box almost protectively.   
“Because you need to know,” my eyebrow springs up as I watch him. “There is absolutely no obligation that comes with this. This is a gift. This is a gift that has no strings, no commitment, nothing attached to it other than being a gift.” His voice is stern and steady. “Unless you want those strings or attachments.” This seems very rehearsed; a speech to ease me. “I am expecting nothing for this. You there is no backlog of things you need to repay starting now. You aren’t even obligated to keep talking to me because of this box. If you wanted to leave now, I would understand and let you willingly.” His spiel has me calmed mostly. “Secondly, you are not in any way obligated to accept this gift. If you don’t want it, you don’t want it. I will not be hurt by it. We can act like this box doesn’t exist and keep going on about our lives how we have been.” Anxiety spikes through me. This is my expensive blue box. I have to know what’s in it before refusing it. Our silent stare makes my ears ache in the noise of this place.  
“Before I open this,” I begin with a hesitant tone, “and be honest because I know full well what things cost from here. How much did you spend?” Both of our faces are flat. Poker face. His hand moves back to his side of the table, moving his cutlery on his plate.  
“You’ll hate me.”   
“How much?”  
“Over twelve thousand.” Father, at the most, spent maybe $6,000 total on every piece he got me. $12,000…on one item. A hand goes to my mouth, holding up my jaw. My elbow holds me up as it props against the table. The sound of all of the voices makes my ears ring louder. “Estelle?” Without me wanting them to, my eyes close. “I want you to hear me say this also so you don’t get more upset.” He sounds like himself now, I take a deep breath. “It’s quick, I know. I thought that when I bought it. We were together two months on the day I got it.” I force myself to watch him speak. “Honestly, I don’t know what this is.” His hand gestures to the box. “What I keep coming back to as…an investment.” I can’t keep my choked laugh behind my hand. The expression that crosses his face reads ‘yeah, I know.’ “You are a woman who, in all of the years I’ve been in the dating scene, captivates me enough to want to buy you such a luxury item. You’re used to upper class anyway, right?” Of course, take a jab at the rich girl who couldn’t help her upbringing. My eyes roll.   
“So,” words fall out muffled, “this is like a downpayment on a house?” He smiles, softly laughing.   
“I wouldn’t call it that but sure. A real fixer-upper.” He winks. My foot thumps against his calf with some pressure. “This is me giving you something that…that will come across as me wanting whatever this is that we have to last for as long as you’ll have me.” Warmth fills me as my hand reaches across the table, seeking his. “Call it a promise ring if you want. An engagement ring if it doesn’t scare you, even though it scares me a little…It’s a token of me wanting to give you the best because the next few months are going to be hellish. I want you to feel like you deserve the best because you do. I also want you to feel like I’m doing my best to give you that, even while we’re apart.” I want to challenge him again, call it a bribe to stay with him. His words give me butterflies.   
Michael’s free hand gestures to the box, nodding.  
My fingers untie the ribbon while my stomach curls up in knots. Mikey watches me intently, trying to gauge my reaction. The box lid is placed gingerly on the table. Tissue paper is folded back with the greatest of care. I have to tilt the blue box to get the smaller, black velvet one. With some effort, I open the velvet box. Before looking at the contents, I place the box on the table. We lock eyes again.  
“I am not obligated to accept this.”  
“Not in anyway. No strings, no worries, no regrets.” He smirks. I shift my gaze downward.  
The small sliver band holds a princess cut diamond; it’s at least 1 carat. If I really wanted to inspect it, the cut and clarity would be impeccable.  
“I called Ezra to ask a few questions that day. Mostly, your ring size.” Eyes wide flash up to his face from the sparkle that sits on the table. “She did that same face, I’m sure.” Without really wanting them to, my eyes drift back down to the box. “She said she’d kill me if she has to. Also told me to not fuck things up. She hasn’t seen you this happy in years, even when you were on medication.” A smirk grows on my lips. “Your ring size is a little smaller than mine so, when I went to the shop earlier and tried it on, it was snug. I assumed it would fit you without any issues.” His hand moves to the box.  
The ring slides smoothly from it’s former home. Michael closes the box, placing it on the table. Our eyes meet again. “If you accept this…if you want this…Will you do me the honor, Miss James?” It feels as though all of my organs are shutting down at once. The sensation is a numb euphoria, I think.  
What do I do? Pick my jaw up off of the floor?  
“Of course, Mr. Day.” My left hand moves closer to him.  
It fits like it was meant to live there.  
God fucking damnit.   
My fingers are extended while I stare down at my hand. The metal feels foreign, strange.  
“I stared at these for hours as a teenager.” I look up at his face. “How did you know that Tiffany’s was my favorite?”  
“I didn’t.” He’s a right bastard.  
“What about the cut or band?”  
“You are a classic woman, timeless. This spoke to me the most.” How does this man even exist? I’m living in some sort of daydream, right?  
“I actually just haunt you where ever you go. Must have been talking in your ear the entire time.”  
At the same time, I believe, we both want to be out of the awkward French restaurant. With quickness, we pay, retrieve our coats and walk as far away from the place as possible.  
It’s a quarter to ten when we walk into a McDonald’s.   
The walk back to the car is filled with the sounds of chewing terrible french fries and the cacophony that is the city.   
My love letter playlist is turned off on the way home. Our hands stay connected while he drives.   
Michael’s car parks. The empty driveway on the opposite side confuses him for a moment.   
He calls Geoff.   
“Hey man, you guys home?” One sided conversations are always awkward to listen to. “Oh, shit, sorry! I forgot. You gonna be gone for the weekend?” He nods to his steering wheel. “Oh, Sunday night, cool.” With a swift moment, he turns off the car and hands me the keys. His head moves, gestures, toward the house. The phone moves from his face. “He’s in a talkative mood. I’ll be a minute.” I nod, my body disliking the cold.   
I sit on the couch in nothing but my work blouse, brazier and panties. The other parts of my outfit are strewn about the living room. Multiple times, I have to stop myself from staring at the rock on my finger.  
Putting it on is accepting it, right?   
‘Of course’ is a terrible response to a proposal, if that’s what that was!  
My knees are up to my chest, arms wrapped around them, when Michael finally walks in. He’s still on the phone.   
“Well, she’s part of the family now.” The door closes softly behind him. He empties his pockets while awkwardly holding the phone. “It’s two people who want to hang out…hanging out, Geoff. Why does it matter who I spend my time with?” Michael stands up right, holding his phone with some odd determination. “We’re the only two single people in the group, man. We’re practically forced to be together. We’re now a weird team.” I can just barely hear Geoff’s voice through the speaker in his mobile. “No, Rob and I are not a unit. He never comes to the group gatherings. He hates them.” Michael only shoots me quick glances. His brows furrow. “Dude, why are you so concerned about who I hang out wth? We aren’t kids anymore, you don’t have to watch my back constantly.” He awkwardly slips his sport coat off, throwing it where I tossed mine. We’ll get to that later. “You do understand that you’re warning me about Estelle, right?” My eyes widen while my body sits up, now trying my best to eavesdrop. “You, out of everyone, have given the least amount of effort into getting to know her.” He starts to move closer but something Geoff says stops him in his tracks. “You think she’s some fucking spy, sent to infiltrate out tight knit unit? How paranoid are you?” His sigh is annoyed. “I understand your concern for me but I think I you need to give someone a chance before tossing them into the ‘man-eating thoroughbred yuppie’ category.” My incredibly hurt expression must concern him. “I’ll go feed your fucking fish, dude. I don’t want to have this conversation anymore.” He pauses. “Love you too, night.” He toes his shoes off before moving any closer to the couch.  
“Good to know what your brother thinks of me.” My tone is flat. Michael stands a barely an arm’s length away from the couch.  
“Good to know I don’t give a fuck about my brother’s opinion of my friends or love interests because he lied to a woman for three years about who he was…now she’s his wife and pregnant with his child.”   
Michael informs me that our neighbors are going to be out of town for the weekend. Milly’s mother likes to travel and stay in strange cities with her children for her birthday which is what they have been roped into.  
It’s then that Michael realizes we’re alone in the duplex. 

I beg him twice to fuck me. He refuses. However, he’s more than happy to make me squirm for what seems like hours on end. 

We fall asleep at four, with the intention of calling out of work tomorrow once again.   
Jemma calls me at 6:15.  
“Honey, I just wanted to ask if everything is done in the house on your part.”  
“As far as I know, yeah?”   
“Wonderful! I was just calling to ask because everything has to be done by tomorrow. I’m settling on the house on Monday.” My body shoots up. Michael stirs, his hand touching my thigh.   
“What? I thought this process was going to take months.” Groggy and annoyed is not a good combination.   
“I had bidders on the house before you even got here, silly.” My head flings back with a quiet groan.  
“So, I moved here only to pack up your shit, fix up your house and be done with it?”  
“That’s not the on-“  
“Sure, I have friends here now and the desire to want to stay here on my own but couldn’t you have hired someone to do that shit for you? Instead of both you and my father making me feel like garbage…free labour.” She sighs.  
“I know. They just wanted so badly to build that house for you.” I want to throw my phone across the room. “It’s done now, by the way.”  
“I know, Oliver told me.” There’s a quiet moment.  
“Have you talked to your parents?”  
“You know I haven’t.” Another quiet moment.  
“You should.”  
“Have a good day, Jemma.” I hang up on her. It’s terribly obnoxious this early but I send a text to Beth, telling her that I have to help my grandmother with the final details of the house today. I’ll still work on projects at some point.   
Michael holds me close to him.  
His skin is soft under my hands.   
“Goodbye, childhood,” I mumble in a whisper.  
“Good riddance.” 

Michael and I spend the rest of the week and weekend going through some of both of our belongings. He wants to see if I have any goodies stashed away that are worthy of being displayed with pride. I want to see if there’s anything that needs to be thrown out.   
He plays the CD he had in the car.   
“You understand this is a giant love letter, right?”   
“Especially the ABBA song.” He laughs at my sigh. “I told you, I made a CD with you in mind. It’s some artists that I like but some songs that make me think of you.”   
His sound system, which usually hides in the entertainment center, is much more complex than I’ve seen in a home. More knobs, sliders, and buttons than I know what to do with. We throw things in the ‘toss’ pile. He puts a new record on. We sort through the ‘keep’ pile.  
At one point, we go to the grocery store. We. Together. Grocery shopping.  
The most I’ve done in months is stop in a shop on the corner and grab snacks.   
He tells me that we’ll cook together..because he refuses to broil any more corndogs.  
Laundry is done, taken to dry cleaners and put away in a timely fashion. Luckily, both of us knew how to function enough to run a washer/dryer.   
At some point, I notice that I scratched Michael’s neck with my new piece of jewelry.   
He laughs about it.  
I consider myself a monster.


	23. Chapter 23

I don’t return to work until the 10th, the following Tuesday.  
The day before was the official ‘goodbye Jemma’s house’ legal event extravaganza.  
Jemma asked me to go with her to the signing for the house. Of course, because I’m not a twat, I did. The couple that bought the house looked freshly married, a little older than me and pleasant.  
The husband complimented my outfit.  
Jemma then forced me to go to Edward’s ranch. It’s almost an hour outside of the city.  
I think the village…town…name is Long Valley?  
I didn’t realize the size of his operation.  
Obviously, I should have assumed due to their ability to travel the world.  
Acres upon acres of crops, livestock, and just general farm things.  
The area is beautiful for early spring. I could be here for ages, probably.  
This is my little slice of Saddleworth.  
I was given a key and asked to come here whenever I wished.  
“I’ve even set up one of the guest rooms for you. Off limits to any of the employees…you know…just in case?” She had to place doubt in Michael, obviously.  
I neglected to wear my ring to this social call.  
However, because my sense of worry was instilled in me by my lovely grandmother, I remember the address. Jemma may seem like the ‘let it flow’ type but she is much more of an anxious person than I. She has coping mechanisms. They aren’t like mine where I drink myself silly when I want to avoid my demons.  
Edward might grow hash. Maybe that’s the appeal.  
I now work in my office, being utterly bored. By work, of course, I mean text Michael.  
Maybe, in my spare time, I’ve designed a Save The Date card.  
Maybe Michael and I are currently discussing dates where we would like to maybe sign some legal documents.  
I’m not getting home until November, he says. My daily planner I use for work has this year and next, a page for each day. I flip through it, leaning on my propped up left hand.  
I know, I begin to respond. Next spring, then? My thumb absentmindedly fiddles with my ring when I hear a hard knock on my open office door. I place my phone on my desk while looking up.  
Ezra. My phone vibrates while I stare at her. Her expression, which is meant to be intimidating, comes off as stoney. She has an eyebrow raised and her arms crossed over her chest.  
“So.” Clearly, she’s upset with me not calling her. She already knew.  
“All right?” I try to sound as innocent as possible. Her expression changes to one of annoyance.  
“I was told to wait until I saw you again to say anything and now I’m saying something. What was it?”  
“What was what? I don’t like how vague that is.” She practically storms over to me. My hands have since moved to my lap.  
“Gimmie your hands!”  
“I will. Can I ask a question first?” Flat expression, waiting. “What did he ask you exactly?”  
“Favorite style of jewelry, do you wear it at all,” she pauses, “what your ring size was!”  
“Can I just say bravo on knowing that! I barely remembered it myself.”  
“Estelle!” She practically yells it. With a sigh, I move my left hand from my lap to her. I watch her face shift, emotions running rampant. “Holy shit. So what? You’re engaged now? Are you seriously going to do that? Are you kidding me?” My jaw slacks as she bum-rushes me with questions.  
“It’s a promise ring.”  
“A twenty-six year old man gave you a promise ring?” She holds my hand tightly, staring at the rock.  
“An investment.”  
“Investment?!” Her eyes look back up at my face, realization. “How much was this?”  
“Do you know where he got it from?” She shakes her head.  
“He didn’t mention any stores in particular.”  
“Tiffany and Co.” I can see her eyes almost pop from her skull. “Over twelve thousand,” I say before she has the chance to ask again. Her hands drop mine, moving to her forehead. She is as flabbergasted as I was and still am, honestly. “I didn’t tell him I wanted this. He told me I wasn’t obligated to take it, accept it or him, or stay with him if I didn’t want to. No strings.” I sigh. “He got it when they were in the city last. On our two month, actually,” I say with a scoff. “I don’t think he had much of a plan going in. Just wanted to prove to me that he was committed.”  
“So dude just has twelve grand laying around to drop on a ring for you on a whim?” I shrug, her mouth hanging slightly open.  
“He doesn’t buy much, as far as I can tell. Coffee, some clothes, a new pedal for his bass every now and then…and his bills.” This is the Estelle Shrug Fest 2007. There is no way I can explain the actions of Michael. I don’t have the desire to begin that process. Ezra sits in one of the chairs opposite mine on the other side of my desk.  
“So…what happens now? How are you feeling about it?” I ponder this a moment.  
Did I want this from him at this point in our relationship? No.  
Did I need it? No.  
Would I have stayed with him, regardless of any gifts of massive monetary value? Of course.  
“I think this is his way of a bribe into a quick marriage,” I say my thought out loud without meaning to.  
“Really?”  
“Have you seen him move quickly in relationships before?” Her brows tighten in thought.  
“As far as I know, his first girlfriend was late high school. Super juvenile but lasted a while, through his college phase. When he dropped out, two years in, she did too. Uh…Next one was a bar girl, I think her name was Nessa? Not worth his time, half a year, maybe. I think he had a fling or two here or there but nothing he seemed super serious about. Now, there’s you.” I should be confused about her knowledge of his dating history. Michael tends to ramble if you have him on a subject while he’s drinking. She’s probably heard the same stories about his exes from him multiple times. He tries his best to keep them from me, however, because I despise talking about mine.  
“He seems to be a super hesitant person when it comes to relationships. Recently, anyway.”  
“Maybe the Geoff stuff pushed us together?” My fingers fight to reach for my phone. I refuse them. “Quickly, I mean. This relationship seemed inevitable to me.”  
“Yeah?” She leans on the arm of the chair she sits in, staring at me curiously. One more shrug added to the many of Estelle Shrug Fest 2007.  
“We were the actual single people. Rob doesn’t count because he doesn’t want to involve his girlfriend.” I had heard hushed stories about Rob’s lady love. He rescued her from an abusive, harassing john at a strip club he was practically forced to go to. It was years before he joined the band. She, they, live in Philadelphia. He just stays here a lot. “Plus, apparently, I’m his type.” Her face scrunches up in confusion.  
“Bleached hair and shitty tattoos?”  
“Try Lucille Ball…According to Milly and his massive ‘I Love Lucy’ collection.” She laughs quietly, shaking her head.  
“How did that not come up in a drunken conversation?” Shrug number 2,417 of the day.  
“He’s got a good drunk filter, it seems.” With a lull in the conversation, I take a quick moment to check my phone.  
How’s December sound?  
My heart races. I hope I don’t look as flushed as I feel I do.  
That’s not too quick? His response was practically immediate. He probably got worried.  
Only if you think it is.  
Ezra stares at my panicked face, an eyebrow raised.  
“What’s up?” My eyes shift from her to my computer monitor. The quickly designed Save-The-Date still large on the screen. It was a light wash of pastels; pinks, blues and light grays. I realize that I had designed this based on a winter event anyway. What is wrong with me?  
I decide not to show her.  
“Michael bein’ a prat.” I smirk at her.  
“I don’t like the idea of him sending sexual things to you while you’re at work. Gross.” We both snicker. She begins to get up, feeling like the conversation should stop there.  
“Oh, one more thing. You’ll love this.” Her body stops, flopping back down.  
“By your tone, I’m assuming I’ll actually hate it.” My lips quirk up in an odd, uncomfortable grin.  
“Geoff thinks I’m trying to wiggle my way into the group.” Her brows furrow, head moving back in a surprised way. “What where his words?” I think for a moment, his phrasing hitting me like a truck once again. “Man-eating thoroughbred yuppie.” Her face falls flat. “Of course, he has seen me mostly in dolled up scenarios. I can’t completely blame him for being daft.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at me.  
“He hasn’t given you a chance. Except when he wants to force himself on you.” Our faces morph into expressions that make the sound ‘eehhhhh’ for something being uncomfortable. “His birthday is next Wednesday.” Michael hadn’t mentioned a word about it. “Thirty.”  
“He looks older.” My tone incredibly catty. Ezra chuckles.  
“The birthday plan is karaoke. You’re coming. You’re coming and you’re wearing your full blown sixteen year old ‘Real Horrorshow’ vibe Stella, because you refused to be called Estelle, costume. You’ll show this motherfucker that you’re more rock and roll than he’ll ever be.” As she speaks, my lips grow into a grin.  
Sixteen year old Stella was a much different beast than twenty-three, nearly twenty-four, year old Estelle. I had recently found and fallen in love with punk. Black Flag was a constant in my bedroom. Jemma never yelled about the volume, though.  
I had given myself a terrible ‘X’ tattoo on the inside of my left pinky. It’s still there, just extremely faded.  
My skirts were short, usually some form of ironic (to me) terrible animal print and always worn with at least two pairs of terrible coloured tights. My forest green Docs were the first pair I owned. They never wear out, they just break in. I liked to wear cropped fur coats over shit old t-shirts. Thick, black eyeliner was my usual without the red lips. My hair, god…It was jaw length, cut very jagged and usually was dirty.  
Luckily for both of us, this look is something I still wear from time to time. According to most, I pulled it off well. Except the hair. That length was never a good idea.  
I had tried to kill myself twice by that point. Ezra, because I was always terribly afraid of breaking her heart, was unaware of this fact. 

 

Ezra and I hang out the most we have since I moved here in the next week. We go shopping, I go to her’s practically every night. Michael comes once or twice for dinner.  
I’m not putting as much space as I can between Michael and I…I’m saving the surprise.  
Geoff and Michael, while both completely separate beings, do share similar thoughts. What’s to say that Mikey, while still caring for me, hasn’t thought that I was a man-eating thoroughbred yuppie. He makes rich girl jokes enough.  
By the sixteenth, Michael has told me about the party on the eighteenth.  
“Ezra invited me,” I say while trying to not act snooty about the entire thing.  
“Ezra?”  
“She told me about it last week.” Worry flashes across his face before his usually open expression falls back into place.  
“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” My head shakes, shrugging.  
“No worries, love.”  
The eighteenth arrives. I go to work like normal, do the usual job thing. Michael and I talk about some flowers we both like. Carnations and succulents top the list. 

“No, you don’t have to pick me up.” He assumes I’m working late.  
“We have to get ready for the party, Estelle. It’s at seven, in the city.”  
“I’ll be getting ready…at Ezra’s house.”  
“At Ezra’s?” His voice comes out weak, defeated. I fight the urge to sigh.  
“Yeah. I’ll see you there, okay?”  
“Okay,” he whispers. Way to make me feel incredibly guilty about showing you and your brother up, Michael.  
“I miss you.”  
“Not as much as I miss you, Miss James.” 

Ezra, dressed like her normal self, scrutinizes my outfit. I still have my cropped fur, though it’s seen better days. It adds to the look, though. We found a terrible, distressed denim skirt at a local thrift. My mother, while terrible, has been good for one thing…introducing me to Morrissey. While I grew up, I was given a collection of t-shirts for The Smiths and the man himself. Tonight, I wear my sixteen year old favorite: My mother’s original ‘The Queen Is Dead’ album cover t-shirt from their show at the Free Trade Hall, 1986. The collar has been cut out. It’s filled with holes, thin in many places, and very not appropriate for how chilly the air is tonight. Luckily, I have a thick pair of black tights covering my legs. Eyeliner is thick, messy but blended on the upper eyelid and some on the bottom waterline. That’s the only makeup I wear.  
I haven’t brushed my hair in two days. It’s down around my shoulders haphazardly and tucked behind my ears. No polish on my nails, no perfume on my wrists, and absolutely no fucks given.  
“The dark circles under your eyes add to the look.” I want to clip her ‘round the ears but I’m smirking. She has kept me up late, watching movies and decorating her office. “Think Mikey will say anything?”  
“Why didn’t you get ready at home? Was this outfit worth it?” I mimic Michael’s voice, putting my fists on my hips while wiggling my shoulders. She chuckles.  
“Your Mikey voice is nearly spot on.” We share a little giggle. We walk downstairs. Frank, who has known very little about the goings on this week, hears us and turns the telly off. His expression when he sees me makes both Ezra and I chuckle.  
“Did you get in a bar fight? She found you on the corner, right?” We nod, shrugging.  
“That’s actually my job, Frank. Lot Lizard Extraordinaire.”  
Before we leave, I remember to shove Geoff’s present in my massive, old leather purse.

 

Frank decides to drive to NYC, because that’s faster, for some odd reason. I’ve been told that the place Geoff picked is in west Midtown. Some Japanese place. He’s heard good things, I’m told by both of them on separate occasions.  
Frank finds a decently placed, but not decently priced, parking garage near the place. It was nearly $19 dollars for two hours but $20 for ten. I don’t understand.  
As we walk down the street, the wind cuts through my tights. Ezra and I huddle closely together. Oddly enough, I’m nervous. It’s just us six, maybe one or two strangers thrown in for fun. Ray is taking care of his sick grandfather and Rob is taking all of the time he can get in Philadelphia. Michael invited Mark also but he politely declined. Geoff invited a few others as well but, as far as I know, only their friend Jeremy could attend.  
The hostess, a cute chubby cheeked girl, helped us to the private room.  
The table in front of the wrap around couch was already filled with multiple glasses.  
Jeremy, I’m assuming, was in the middle of a song I almost recognized. Milly and Geoff were cackling. Michael watches us enter the room. The hostess asks us if we would like anything. I order a Coke. Frank and Ezra both get their typical beer.  
“It’s just you and your hand tonight!” The song finishes. All of us offer some applause, Milly whoops.  
Jeremy looks like a lumberjack who’s trying to hard to fit in with the hip children.  
He fits right in.  
Frank gives warm greetings. Ezra says a polite hello to everyone before sitting down. I move out of the way before finding my seat.  
The only open and not awkward spot happens to be in between Michael and Ezra. When my spine hits the back of the couch, I turn to look at Mikey’s face. His eyes are glued to my left hand. I see him visibly sigh. Our eyes meet again. My expression, I’m hoping, reads ‘I’m not an idiot, you idiot.’  
“Hello, Michael,” I say quietly while everyone continues on with their greetings.  
“Hey.” He gives me his crooked smile. “I haven’t seen you out and about without a full face on…ever?” My eyes roll.  
“Wasn’t feeling it.” With a shrug, I turn to everyone else. Jeremy is sitting down next to Geoff. Frank is taking his seat on the other side of Ezra. Geoff turns to me, then, a closed smile on his face.  
“Thanks for coming, Estelle.” My smile is genuine. I remember his gift, then.  
“Wouldn’t miss it!” I dig around in my purse for a moment before pulling out the terribly wrapped gift. “Got you this, felt it was appropo.” We play hot potato with the small gift for a moment before it gets to his hands.  
“You didn’t have to get me anything.” I shake my head, waving him off. He opens it quickly enough. His reaction makes me smile. “The Man Who Fell To Earth…on Betamax? Are you kidding me?” He looks genuinely delighted, happy with my selection.  
“Saw it when Ezra and I went thrifting. Thought of you immediately.” His cluttered flat is filled with many things. Several of them are Bowie related. He places the small box on the table, standing from his seat. The awkward shuffle he makes to me puts his bum in everyone’s face. Our bodies make contact for the first time since the housewarming party. The hug I receive is friendly but tight enough to mean something.  
“Thank you, Stella. I appreciate it. It’s awesome.” My hand gives him the three-pat warning on the back before he pulls away.  
When the hostess returns with drinks, the party begins.  
Frank does a Christina Aguilera song, a recent tune. His whine isn’t too bad with this song…mostly?  
Milly sings that one song we all know by A-Ha. Geoff and Milly force Michael to sing a song. He does a track by Radiohead. His singing voice isn’t terrible. We all sing along at one point. I look through the book for a few minutes. When the song reveals itself to me, I have to sing it.  
Queen.  
I commit to my performance in front of my seat, standing. I don’t need the words.  
In the middle of the song (during the solo), I toss my coat to Ezra. Everyone, even the stranger Jeremy, laughs.  
“She’ll absolutely drive you wild! Wild! She’s all out to get you,” I sing, winking at Geoff. His eyes narrow for just a moment.  
I get much applause.  
Ezra picks the next song, handing me the extra microphone. When she punches the number into the remote for the karaoke system, I groan.  
When we were younger, I introduced Ezra to many things. This song in particular was introduced to her by me making her watch a movie. It was a terrible live action movie about four teenage brothers saving New York City from some terrible ooze filled mutants.  
They were also turtles.  
I’m incredibly surprised this track is even in this book.  
Everyone laughs when the song starts.  
Everyone sings the chorus.  
“Go, ninja, go ninja, go!”  
I wish I were drunk and belligerent at this moment. It would make it so much sweeter.  
Geoff opts for a song he’s sang live…with the actual band preforming it. It’s a Blink song.  
The rest of the evening goes in an odd rotation.  
Geoff makes me sing “Under Pressure” with him, as expected.  
We do well enough.  
By the two hour mark, everyone is worn down…with the exception of Geoff who sings for a living. Everyone else wants to go out for dinner once we’ve had our fill of singing. I desperately want to opt out, being tired of the social setting without alcohol.  
We go to a hole in the wall sandwich place. I get some sort of turkey something.  
I make a point to not sit next to Michael. Milly gladly has me next to her.  
Everyone talks around me while I barely eat or drink anything. She leans over to me, bumping me with her elbow.  
“You okay?” I try to give her a reassuring smile but it doesn’t work.  
“Might just need a smoke,” I mumble, gathering up my purse to go stand outside.  
“I’ll go with you.” My expression becomes stern but she ignores it. “Be right back, guys. Stella needs some air. I’m going to go out with her.” Everyone nods as we get up from our seats.  
I take a long drag on my cigarette before she speaks again.  
“Everything okay?” I nod but it feels like a lie.  
“Let me show you a little something.” I don’t want to tell her, but I have to. We have this odd bond based on secrets now. My free hand digs around in my massive bag before I feel the velvet on my fingertips. The box falls from my hand into her small, gloved palm. Her brows are furrowed when she looks back up at me. “It was a gift from your brother-in-law to me last week.” As she opens the small box, she sees the brand name embossed on the lid as well as the massive jewel. Her jaw drops. Realizing there are windows, she quickly closes the box, shoving it back in my bag.  
“Woah.”  
“A promise ring, he says.” Her head shakes, eyes still wide.  
“That’s no promise ring.” My lungs burn with another long drag. “That seems to be the case with these Day men, though.”  
“What do you mean?” I resist the urge to light another cigarette before this one is even finished.  
“They move quickly.”  
“Three years, Milly…” She sighs, giving me an exasperated look.  
“In person! Geoff had my ring…less than a month into our in person relationship.”  
“Again, Millicent, three years.” The look she gives me for using her full name is a nasty one but it makes me smirk.  
“Three years of me not really knowing anything personal about him. What I mean by moving quickly is that they see what they want and they like…claim it for themselves.”  
“Basically, that’s him licking me and saying I’m covered in his germs, like a child?” She cackles. Her nod afterwords tells me that she probably spent a lot of time defending herself to Geoff online. If he’s jealous of his brother, I have no idea what she must deal with every single day.  
I’m getting the idea that these Day brothers are both possessive, protective, and incredibly jealous men.  
I’d rather have that than aloof. To a point, obviously, I’m not that self destructive. Mostly.  
Her arms wrap tightly around her torso. Milly opted to wear terrible clothing for a chilly, spring night.  
“Go back inside.” My head motions to the door.  
“Are you sure?” With a nod, I smile. My hands move to light my next cigarette.  
“Thanks for the out.” She smiles before turning and heading back inside.  
My second cigarette is nearly to the filter when the door opens again. I don’t look to see who it is. When his body is beside me, I look over at him.  
His toboggan is pulled down over his ears, glasses fogging up some. His long, wool coat is buttoned up most of the way with a scarf popping out of the top. Dark, jeans end with fashionable but sturdy dark boots.  
“Can I bum one of those?” I quickly look over at his face.  
“You hate smoking.” He half smiles.  
“I also hate being ignored all night or all week, really.” I was expecting this conversation. When I was at home, I hadn’t been paying him much attention. I was nearly swamped with work stuff…nearly. That’s what I told him, anyway.  
My cold fingers pick the pack and lighter back out of my purse, handing the items to him.  
“Walk with me?” He asks, motioning down the street. I nod, shrugging. For safe measures, I practically inhale one more cigarette. We both smoke in quiet.  
The nicotine hits me finally. My knees feel a little off but I keep moving without a word.  
“So, it was a show, huh?” I gather that he doesn’t mean everyone’s performances. Michael’s probably commenting on my appearance.  
“What was a show?” Better to ask and know than to just assume.  
“This week…tonight.”  
“What kind of show?” We walk past several well lit shops. We walk past several other people. This street is surprisingly less busy than others, however.  
“You had to prove something to…I’m not sure who. You, Geoff…Me?” My decision to tell him my thought process, comparing him to Geoff is nearly immediate.  
“You and your brother grew up the same way, in the same house, on the same street until you both moved out…what, a year ago?” His expression cuts me off mid-thought. “Let me finish.” His eyes nearly roll. “You have incredibly similar thought processes when it comes to logic, money…people.” The gist starts to dawn on him but he doesn’t say anything. “I refuse to put myself in a place, a box, where I am put on this pedestal as this untouchable, unreachable thing. I’m not better than anyone because of my incredibly miserable rearing.” I can tell he wants to stop me but doesn’t. “I know when you repeated what your brother said back to him, you wanted me to hear it.” His eyes stare straight ahead, avoiding people and obstacles in our way. “When he said it, I knew you’d already thought…at least one of those things or did, at one point.” He reaches over then, taking my hand. “Ezra suggested that I show you lot what I was before I learned what my style was. This is it. This is punk Stella, as she likes to call it. This is the girl who took too many of her grandmother’s antidepressants in a sitting and vomited all night. This is the girl who had to be talked down for hours out of practically gouging herself.” His fingers squeeze mine. My hands make no effort to react. “I could go on and on about my pity party. Days upon days of me just ranting about my life. I don’t want to, though. I have no desire. I’ve _grown_ out of it. If me growing out of the scum that I once felt I was makes me a man-eating thoroughbred yuppie, then so fucking be it.” I haven’t looked at him in minutes. I don’t want to. Our steady pace leads us to where I was hoping, the train station.  
The train ride back to Newark was quiet for us, no words exchanged. A cab takes us home.  
My clothes are removed in my room, Michael stays downstairs.  
The shower I take lasts until cold water stings my back.  
On my bed, an outfit is laid out for me. My favorite sleep shirt and panties. Lookit, he’s sweet when he wants to be.  
I'm sure to put my ring on before I leave my room.  
I hold the towel on my head as I walk down the stairs. Michael sits crosslegged on the couch, staring mindlessly at the telly. A show I recognize plays, a robot talking about shiny metal bums.  
My body moves to sit next to him on the sofa. He holds a mug tightly.  
“Made you a cup, if you want some.” He nods to the mug on the coffee table.  
We sip quietly for a few moments. I didn’t realize he knew how I liked my coffee already. That would be one thing he would remember.  
The show’s credits begin. Michael turns the television off. He takes my empty mug from me, placing both of the dishes on the coffee table. When his back has made full contact with the sofa, his head turns to me.  
I am not expecting much.  
“I never made you unreachable, in my mind,” he begins. Odd way to start this but I don’t make a fuss about it. “I made you untouchable, originally, anyway. Ezra’s stories always made you come across as this funny girl, quirky but with just a twinge of something. Maybe your guard was up?” He shrugs. “Before I knew you, you were untouchable. You’re right, Geoff and I do think the same way…mostly. My opinion can change if given enough proof otherwise. Getting to know you, seeing you in a way that I never thought I would…You’re far more real, legitimate and honest than I’ll ever be to strangers or friends.”  
“Is it a front?” My legs are tucked under me now. Michael hands me the throw blanket from the back of the sofa so I can cover up my cold body. I offer a silent thank you.  
“Your actions or words?” I shrug.  
“All of it.” My thumb toys with my ring nervously while my hands sit on my recently covered lap. His eyes catch the sparkling diamond in the light. As he watches the shine of the rock, an odd crooked smile settles in on his face.  
“At first, sure. You get too tired of the facade. You are incredibly fake when you need to be.” His head tilts back up then, looking at my face. “That’s what Geoff thinks he knows. The Estelle Facade. That’s you, one hundred percent, to him. After tonight, though, I think that’s changed. Your plan worked.” My brows furrow at him.  
“What part of it, exactly?”  
“Well…” He sighs, pulling some of my blanket onto his lap also. “Distancing yourself from me. I spent a lot of time with him this week. He appreciated that. That fucking Betamax was golden, though, man.” We share a short, quiet laugh. “You found that at a thrift store?” I nod, his head shakes. “He didn’t realize you’d know him well enough to find that and know he’d appreciate it.”  
“I’ve been in his house enough to realize his Bowie obsession.” He nods. “What would justify his thought process is if this were his flat and I picked out…a terrible fake flower bouquet to sit in the corner because what the fuck else am I supposed to buy him?” Michael rolls his eyes, smiling a toothy smile. His reaction makes me smile too. The room grows quiet again. Michael leans forward onto his lap, holding his head up to look at me.  
“I can’t apologize for what other people have done to you…or what other people think of you…” My shoulders shrug, head slightly nodding.  
“I was never expecting you to, Michael.”  
“What are you expecting?” For the first time, I don’t know what to say. We sit, staring at each other for a moment or two.  
“I just want to be treated like your girlfriend…without any fuckin’ strings or judgement…And without anyone sticking their nose up yer bum to figure out anythin’.” It’s the first time in months that I’ve sounded nearly as northern as my blood would allow. He nods.  
“This weekend.”  
“Can I meet your folks before then?”  
“Absolutely.”  
"When?"  
"Tomorrow night? I'm sure pop would be delighted to see the product of my shopping trip." My brows furrow. He takes my left hand, then. His thumb pushes my ring around a little.  
"Your father helped you pick this out?" He smiles.  
"He helped me decide if it was a good idea or not.”  
“Without even meeting me?”  
“He’s always trusted my judgement.” My lips quirk up in a smile.  
“What about your mother?” His expression makes me cackle.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some sexual stuff in this one. i warned you.

We walk down the street toward his parent’s townhouse, his childhood home. Because of my nerves, I keep fussing with myself. My skirt hem is too short, shirt is too low cut. My flyaways are too wild to control. There’s lipstick on my teeth, for sure.  
I, very unintentionally, say all of this out loud.  
Michael stops me then, grabbing both of my shoulders to turn my body in his direction.  
“You look lovely. Your skirt is not too short. Your hair looks like curled copper perfection. You are blended beautifully. Your eyebrows are sisters, not cousins. I want that shade of red around my cock but please…please. Calm down.” He laughs at my expression after realizing what he said.  
“Excuse me, sir. You calm down. No lipstick is going anywhere near anything until after this ordeal is over.”  
“Ordeal that you wanted,” he says under his breath as we both continue to move toward the house. Our hands interlock. Our palms slide around, sweat slicked.  
“Don’t mention your cock around your parents,” I mumble. He quietly chuckles as we move up the stairs to their front door. We stand there silently for a moment, both nervous. He releases my hand, shaking his arms out in front of him.  
He wears his normal, worn leather jacket over a button up dress shirt. We fussed over the idea of him wearing a tie for twenty minutes before he said no. He practically demanded that I wear my red gingham circle skirt…once he learned that I had it. The only shirt I had to wear with it is a thin, small white t-shirt. The skirt hem hits just above my knees, so the white tights were necessary. It’s funny that my coat is longer than my skirt. My shoes are a disaster; black pointy pumps. I feel immediate regret for the outfit now.  
“I’m wearing too much makeup, these shoes are a joke, and I should have just worn a bin bag.” He sighs, wrapping his arm around me. My shoulders relax, relieving some of the tension in my body.  
Michael knocks on the door, for my sake. Usually, he would have walked right in.  
The door nearly flies open when his hand falls. His arm is wrapped around my lower back now, hand resting lightly on my hip. The man standing in the doorway is the replica of Michael. He’s a little taller, older looking. His hair is slicked back in a grayed brown pompadour. There’s a fine stubble cross his jaw. When our eyes meet, he gives me the same crooked smile the Day sons offer so freely. I want to punch all of them.  
“Are they here?!” A woman’s voice calls out from inside of the house. Mikey laughs. Mr. Day chuckles also.  
“Yeah, Lizzy, they’re here!” His accent is incredibly thick. It’s very…New Jersey. Northern Jersey, though. He looks back at us, a bigger smile on his face. “Come on in, guys.” His body moves from the doorway then. Michael guides me in front of him as we step through the threshold. My coat is removed by Michael before I have a chance to say other wise. His parents now stand awkwardly in front of us. Lizzy, I am assuming, is beaming at us. She’s shorter than I imagined with golden blonde colored hair. Her roots are a dark brown. She’s intentionally left her roots undyed, I believe, because they’re too long to not be. The boys have her color eyes. Hers, however, are more beautiful, almost sparkling. Her round face is incredibly open and friendly.  
“Hello Estelle! We’ve heard so much about you!” She comes in, then, arms open. I freeze, not knowing how to accurately interact with her. Her arms wrap around me in one of the warmest, loving hugs I’ve felt. My arms hold her to me for a moment before she pulls away. Her husband does the same. He smells faintly like Michael. They must use the same cologne. She probably buys it for both of them.  
“She doesn’t even know your names yet.” The parents both chuckle.  
“Sorry, doll. My name is Arthur, call me Art. This beauty,” Michael’s father gestures to his mother with a showman’s hand, “is Elizabeth but prefers Liz.” Art then wraps his arm around Liz like Mikey tends to do to me.  
“It’s lovely to meet you both. A pleasure.” We all stand there awkwardly in their small foyer. Liz throws her hands up, now incredibly excited.  
“Come! Come sit!”  
Her front room, while looking slightly old fashioned, is cluttered but immaculate. The furniture looks worn but comfortable.  
Michael and I sit on the sofa, legs pressed together. My hands are in my lap. I make a point to hide my ring. Michael grabs my right hand, keeping his hand in my lap. Liz keeps rushing about, getting things together. Art, while helping her, keeps telling her to relax. Liz waves him off several times.  
“This feels like prom all over again.” I have to stifle a chuckle. Michael’s whispered exasperations keep the grin on my face.  
“At least we aren’t sharing that we’re pregnant.” He squeezes my hand, shaking his head. “Too soon?” He shrugs, I snicker.  
Liz eventually brings a tray in, sitting it on the coffee table in front of us. There’s a bowl of sugar, a small pot of cream, little spoons, four mugs. She also brings out a large, insulated coffee pot. The heat and smell that irradiates from the metal pot appeals to me in this moment so I have something to do with my hands. Art sits down in the large armchair to our left. Liz sits on the smaller armchair to our right.  
This is the stare down of the century. God, it is like prom.  
“It’s that funny blend you like, Mikey. I went out and got it this morning.”  
“You didn’t have to do that, mom.”  
“Of course I did! If you like it, she’s had to have had it by now.” Michael and I both chuckle. She beams at us. Michael preps our coffee. I say our because he gets two of the mugs and begins to pour the coffee into them. His hands shake just ever so slightly.  
“So, Estelle,” Liz starts, “tell us about you!” My heart, which has been going at a pretty steady pace, decides to rev up. My palms must be like swamps.  
Mikey knows I dreaded this question. I assumed, since he’s shared my life story, that I wouldn’t get this question. Last night, while trying to go to sleep, I tossed and turned for hours.  
“What’s wrong?” He said after dealing with me wiggling for a while.  
“Nothing.”  
“You’re not this restless for nothing.”  
“I’m fine.”  
“It’s my parents.”  
“No.”  
“Of course it is. There isn’t anything else that would give you this much anxiety.”  
“Shut up.”  
“They’re going to adore you.”  
“They’re going to ask me to talk about myself.”  
“I’ve told them a lot already.”  
“You have?”  
“Yeah. Is that okay?”  
“Of course. Don’t keep things from your parents…It’s just…”  
“What?”  
“What did you tell them?”  
“General information. I didn’t tell them you fart in your sleep or anything like that.”  
“I hate you.”  
I feel Michael tap my hand, bringing me back to the present. When the cup of coffee hits my palm, I sigh with relief.  
“Well…” I pause, remembering my rehearsed lines from my shower earlier today. “I’m twenty-three, twenty-four on Monday. I’m a graphic designer. I…uh…” Liz can see me struggling, so she prompts me.  
“You’re from Manchester, right?” I nod, smiling. “Is it your mother’s side of the family?” I nod again, sipping my coffee before really answering.  
“Yes, she was born in the village they live in now.”  
“Sa-Saddleworth?” Michael has been paying too much attention. My head nods once again, my smile going nowhere. “That’s fun!” I chuckle at her tone. “What about your dad? I know you were living with your grandma here for a bit.” If there were anyway I could fight the blood from pooling in my cheeks, I would.  
“Born and raised here in Newark,” I say with a nod.  
“Do you have any other family around here?” My head shakes.  
“Both of my parents were the only children. I never met either of my grandfathers.” I shrug at Art’s sad expression. “I have an older brother, Oliver. He’s a bit of a…Mess.” They both quietly chuckle. “He’s back in Manchester. We lived here as kids for a while.”  
“Until you were in high school?” My head nods once again.  
“We moved back when I was sixteen.”  
“That had to have been rough, doll.” If I wasn’t already mad about his son, I’d probably be mad about this man.  
“It was a struggle for a while, but I got through university. Made it back here, doing much better.”  
“It’s a shame, what your dad did.” I have to correct a statement I’ve said before. Michael Day is the biggest gossip I know. Staring at Liz, I see more of Geoff in her face. He has some of his fathers features but his face and eye shape are very Elizabeth Day.  
“If he wouldn’t have done what he did, I probably wouldn’t have met Michael.” I feel Michael elbow my side. Liz has the sweetest smile on her face. “Sorry,” my mouth spews out, “I’m a mushy wreck. So sentimental.”  
“I love it!” Liz throws her hands up slightly, wiggling her fingers. She then preps the coffee cups for herself and Art. I take the chance to move the conversation away from myself.  
“You guys are from here then, yeah?”  
“Artie’s family, yeah. Been here for years.” I think she’s done talking but she keeps going. “I moved here from Brooklyn when I was young, eighteen. Came here for school. I’m a beautician.” My eyebrows raise. Her hair and makeup are impeccably done. “We’ve been together, what, thirty years, Artie?” He chuckles quietly as he takes the mug from her with ease.  
“Thirty-one.” She laughs, throwing her head back. Art’s smile at her makes my heart happy.  
I learn through conversation that Liz owns her own salon and works every single day. Art is a mechanical engineer who also works practically every day. They worked hard to support their boys. Still do, actually. Their parents foot the bill on the practice space. The guys have a place to set up their personal tech.  
“You guys must be hungry!” We have been here nearly two hours. I was a bit peckish but mostly just needed the toilet.  
“Starving, mom.”  
“I knew it! Art, come help me with dinner. You two will be okay in here alone?” Her tone is incredibly suggestive. Art gets up from his chair with a groan.  
“They’re not teenagers, babe.” They both walk in the direction of the kitchen. I hear her scolding him for something but her words aren’t loud enough. He chuckles.  
It’s the first time in a while that I’ve taken a real breath. My dramatic exhale make Michael scoff.  
“It wasn’t that bad.” I shake my head, finally looking over at him. He looks relaxed, open.  
“Was I fake?” He shakes his head, offering a smile. “Good.”  
“I’m just surprised mom hasn’t said ‘fuck’ around you yet. She’s trying hard, I think.” I think I can only describe my expression as surprised concern. “Wanna see my room?”  
Michael’s childhood bedroom? Might as well.  
We walk down a smallish hallway. The walls are covered in photographs. Many are the Day brothers as children and teenagers. One that sticks out the most, the one I have to stop and look at, features Geoff and Michael wearing ill fitting suits. Geoff’s is black, of course. Michael’s is a dark gray. The shoulders are too big and they aren’t tailored at all. Probably hand-me-downs. Michael’s teenage glasses are massive circles sitting on his nose. Geoff is pudgy with long hair. I didn’t think it was possible, but I’ve seen Michael be much skinnier now.  
“It was my aunt’s wedding. Third wedding. There’s a picture of us somewhere in the house as little dudes wearing suits for her second wedding.” I snicker, bumping him with my hip.  
“Look at you, little Michael.” He shakes his head, sighing.  
“I was fifteen.”  
“Too bad I didn’t run into fifteen year old you when I was twelve. I would have been swooning.”  
“Would have saved me some time.” He made it too serious too quickly. My pulse quickens again after just settling down. His body moves again, pulling my hand along with him. Michael opens the next door we come to, moving inside. I step in, he closes the door behind me.  
This room, I can very accurately say, is Michael’s old bedroom.  
Posters of Iron Maiden, Misfits, Morrissey, _Star Wars_ , _Aladdin Sane_ , _2001: A Space Odyssey_ and more line the walls. There’s a cork board covered in a random assortment of stickers, scraps of paper and post-it notes. Next to the full size bed lives a desk which looks relatively clean. There’s a smaller chest of drawers and a bookshelf. Cassette tapes live on these shelves along with other knickknacks.  
“Is that an Energy Dome?”  
“I didn’t know you knew anything Devo.”  
“I don’t look like I’d be into new wave, right?” He laughs. “So many tapes.”  
“Geoff and I liked to swap mixed tapes. He introduced me to a lot.” I nod, moving across the room. The bed, which is covered by a few older quilts and a couple of pillows, squeaks as I sit down on it. Michael stands awkwardly where he has been standing for the last five minutes. I have to stop myself from asking him what’s wrong. The room, although a little musty, smells like him, like his father.  
“What’s your cologne?”  
“Mom gets it, has it shipped in from London…uh…Taylor of…something.” I know immediately the shop he’s talking about.  
“Taylor of Old Bond Street. My mother tried to give my father some shaving things from there. He practically threw them in her face.” I pause, thinking for a moment. “Your mother picks out your cologne?” He shrugs.  
“She got it for dad once. I liked it, she got it for me. She gets them for me for Christmas.” I grin.  
“What does she get Geoff for Christmas?” He moves closer to me, then. Whatever ice he felt must be broken by now.  
“This past year? Uh…Shelves for their office. Geoff likes to collect books, inspiration pieces.”  
“He likes to collect a lot of things, it seems.” Finally, he sits beside me. We’re silent for a moment. The sounds of his parent’s voices reverberate through the house though I can’t pick out any specific words.  
“I never moved into Geoff’s room.” Michael’s quiet whisper confuses me.  
“But you told everyone you did?” He nods. “Why?”  
“This is my space. I don’t want anyone else invading it. I know that if I feel that way, Geoff for sure feels that way.” I lean over then, laying my head on his shoulder.  
“But you let me invade your space.”  
“Because it doesn’t feel like this, it doesn’t feel like my space.”  
“What does it feel like?”  
“Like I was just waiting for someone else to come in and fill the empty space with me.” His arm wraps around me while his head rests on top of mine.  
Eventually, after a few minutes of silence, we move to lay on the bed. On our backs, we stare at the ceiling.  
“Tell me something about your family.” While I try not to talk about them too often, I do manage to mention a few things here or there. Mikey is probably incredibly curious.  
“Oliver is bisexual.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah…I mean, he would probably sleep with anyone as long as they were consenting.” He chuckles.  
“Mum doesn’t have a clue but dad walked in on him and a bloke. Oli told me that dad went ghost white and tripped when he was walking out of the room.” I snicker, resisting the urge to rub my eyes. Now I’m inspired to just spout facts about my family. “Mum is a beast when it comes to public relations. She’s absolutely brutal. She brings that back home, though. Always had a hard time separating work and home.”  
“You’ve mentioned that she’s cold hearted before.”  
“She has no sympathy, no understanding or, really, no way to connect with young children.” Michael’s hand finds it’s way to mine. My fingers must feel like ice. “So, while growing up, we had Buster and gran. When we moved here, we had Jemma. Mum was home when I had my first period…Had absolutely no idea how to console me. It was a very mild panic attack.”  
“Shit like that must be traumatizing. How do ladies do that? Just live through bleeding?”  
“Magic powers.” We both sigh at my answer. “Tell me something about your family.”  
“Mom and dad haven’t always been like this. There was a rough patch when my grandpa died. My dad practically shut down. We were all so close to him but dad couldn’t handle it. His death was kind of unexpected.”  
“That’s terrible.”  
“Dad just shut down for a while. Mom had to work extra, had to pick up some appointments at her friend’s shop too. Dad couldn’t work. He eventually had to go to a therapist. Two years of struggling, eating a lot of ramen, having no cable, wearing the same clothes over and over, thrift store boots for the winter. It’s the reason the house became so messy. Mom got afraid to throw things out because what if we need it, what if dad shuts down again?” My face sets into a frown as I sigh. “Geoff was just as broken up about it. They were all really close. That’s when the pills started. Geoff had just finished his first year at college.”  
“You lot and your dropping out of school.” He squeezes my hand.  
“All for music, my dear.” Michael lets go of my hand, sliding off of the bed.  
“What are you doing?” From the chest of drawers, he pulls out a small stereo. He quickly scans his cassette collection. With an efficiency that looks like it was acquired over several years of practice, he has the tape case open, the tape in the stereo, and the tape playing in a matter of seconds. His attention turns back to me, his hands beckoning me.  
“Come here.” The song that starts playing is immediately recognized. Carefully, trying to avoid ruining my hair, I get up off of the bed. I watch Michael as he starts to sway to the song; his head bobbing around to the beat. As a precaution, I toe my shoes off beside the bed. Our bodies are close when he speaks again. “Dance with me?”  
“You dance?” He smirks.  
“Only in the privacy of my bedroom.” We then, with no care in the world, we dance around his bedroom. A few songs play that I recognize. There’s a random McDonald’s commercial.  
“I would put commercials on the tapes. Felt like it was more of a production.”  
“You made this one?”  
“Geoff didn’t like it, he gave it back to me.”  
“What a knobhead.”  
“It had more radio played songs than most of my mixes.”  
A Weezer song plays. He plays the air bass, I sing along. There’s a guitar solo in the middle of the song. I kiss him, unable to stop myself. When I start to pull away, his head follows mine.  
“You’re going to ruin your lipstick,” he mumbles as the song ends.  
“We’re going to eat, it’ll be ruined anyway. Might as well go wipe it off. Where’s the bathroom?”  
“I’ll show you.” He leaves the tape playing when we walk out of the room. The sounds of the Day parent’s voices float down the hallway. Michael opens the next door we meet, walking inside.  
The bathroom looks just as old fashioned as the rest of the house. When I’m in the room, Michael shuts the door. He turns to the mirror, which is a large single piece of glass mounted to the wall above the double sink counter. The counter is cluttered with several products. There are four toothbrushes in two separate containers.  
“Do you still have a toothbrush here?”  
“Mom does that. Just in case. She changes them out every three months, if we used it or not.” My eyes widen. He nods at my reaction. I grab a few squares of the toilet tissue, making quick work of my lipstick removal. Without the red, my entire face looks odd and completely over done. My eyes scan the countertop, finding a face wash. Before saying anything else, I demand Michael hold my hair back. I wash my face three times, just for good measure. He hands me a hand towel while still holding up my hair. The reflection staring back at me is blotchy with red, stained with black around the eyes, and much younger looking. Moisturizer is found soon after. I slather it on over my irritated face. It takes all of this for me to remember that I have to pee. My body turns to Michael then, giving him a odd expression.  
“What?”  
“I have to pee.”  
“Do it.” I’m surprised.  
“You want to see me pee?”  
“I’m not going to watch you but I don’t care if you don’t.” I laugh, not caring at this point.  
“Turn around, then.” The toilet seat cover has a strange goose and lots of pastel blue. “How long has the bathroom looked like this?” I try to talk so the sound of splashing doesn’t make me feel awkward.  
“As long as I can remember. She’s gotten new towels every few years or so but…always the geese.” Suddenly, I see all of the geese in the room. There are at least 10. Shower curtain, toilet seat cover, small ceramic figures, soap dispenser, toothbrush holder, towel rack. Geese. Red eyed devil geese.  
“What a nightmare.” He laughs. I go to flush but he stops me. Apparently, this is quite the day for advancement in our relationship. We hear each other pee AND meet the parents.  
We both wash our hands.  
“How’s my face?”  
“You’re beautiful.”  
“Will they say anything?”  
“Maybe? I wouldn’t worry about it.” My stomach knots up. We are greeted in the hallway by Art.  
“Communal bathroom trip?” Blood rushing to my face and chest makes my ears ring.  
“I was showing her where it was.” Art chuckles at us.  
“Well, bathroom buddies, food’s ready. Come eat!”  
I join Art and Liz in the kitchen. Michael goes into his room for a moment before joining us.  
“Don’t expect much, Estelle. It’s just supposed to be something light. Like a pre-dinner snack.” Liz has plated our meal, placing the dishes on each of our placemats.  
This meal, no matter what she says, is not a light meal.  
It is, however, incredibly delicious.  
It’s a garlic and basil vinaigrette over angel hair pasta with a hefty amount of parmesan.  
She even has breadsticks! This woman…I’d swoon over her too.  
The conversation around the large dining room table is pleasant, open, and incredibly funny. Liz got on the topic of television shows. She starts raving about a show she found on Fox about an FBI agent and a forensic anthropologist.  
“I don’t follow much telly. I get too distracted by other things.” I pause, remembering one major mental debate about a certain television show. “Quick question, though, if you’ll humor me?”  
“Of course, sweetheart.” Liz and I share a small smile.  
“Who got Michael hooked on ‘I Love Lucy’?” They both share a little laugh. Michael covers his face with his hand, sighing.  
"That would be me and his grandfather.” Art says, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hands. "When he told us about you, he was so excited. Liz was like 'well, what is she like?’ He said ‘redhead,’ I was a little skeptical. When he said you were clever and funny, I knew he was done for.” The smile on my face can barely mask the blush.  
“I knew he found someone special.” Liz, always making my heart swell.  
The conversation starts to wind down after that.  
"So, I've been stalling and trying to grab glances when I can but you gotta show us, sweetheart." My heart races for a moment. With hesitation, I move my left hand across the table between the two of them.  
They both gasp.  
"Oh, Mikey," Liz says, barely whispering.  
"Woah," Art mumbles. “Did you set up that payment plan you thought about?” Michael's hand finds my thigh then, fingers nervously playing with the hem of my dress.  
“No, paid for it outright. I didn’t want another bill for Stella to deal with.”  
“Bill for Stella to deal with?” My tone is incredibly flat.  
“If you’ll pay the bills for me?”  
“Oh, sure, I’m the best secretary for you. Would you like your coffee now, Mr. Day? What about your four o’clock foot massage?” He sighs, shaking his head. Liz laughs. “It’s easier for me to deal with money, anyway. You don’t have the patience for it. You’ll have to add me to some accounts, though.”  
“We’ll go to the bank and settle that tomorrow. I’ll just add you to my checking. I wanted to do that anyway.” Sahara mouth returns as I stare wide eyed at Michael. I don’t remember my hand being across the table until my shoulder starts to ache. No one has said a word in minutes. Slowly, I pull my arm back to me.  
“So I can be the trophy wife you’ve always wanted?” He nods, shrugging.  
“Obviously. That was the plan. You told me before, right? Cook in the nude?” I laugh, feeling incredibly awkward.  
“Yeah, cook in the nude but only corndogs…and…Spit shine those tacky gold record plaques you have hanging everywhere. Sound good?” Both of his parents laugh then. Art slaps his hand on the table while he laughs. My blush feels worse and worse.  
"I thought he wouldn't find a charming girl like you, Stella. I'm glad he did." I can't see, my smile is too massive on my cheeks. Liz is my new favorite mother. I’ll take her. New mum, please.  
"I'm just glad he puts up with all of my nonsense." Art smiles that same Day crooked smile at me. My hand returns to my lap, lacing with Michael's. Our palms feel like the great lakes.  
"It's for sure a 50/50 on that front, sweetheart. Think of the next few months. You're a saint for sticking around." Art pauses then, maybe considering his audience. Michael’s hand squeezes mine tightly. "I love Milly to death, don't get me wrong, but she's not built for it. I think you're independent enough to make good decisions." I stare at this man, after him only knowing me personally for maybe two hours, in awe. "You have a job, hobbies outside of your relationship with Mikey, you have friends. You seem like a social butterfly. Milly isn't any of those things. Maybe you can be sisters now. Her brother is an absolute loser." Liz huffs out an exaggerated sigh at the thought of Milly's smelly brother.  
"God, he always smells so fuckin' bad! Take a damn shower!" I blink at her, trying to hold back a laugh. Art laughs, putting a hand on hers. Michael knew she wouldn’t be able to resist a good ‘fuck’ here or there.  
"And he goes on and on about the environment but drinks two of those stupid expensive coffees every day. No offense, Mikey, obviously." Michael laughs quietly.  
"None taken, pop. I think they're stupid too." Art cracks a smile at Mikey.  
"That guy, Burt, is a fuckin' idiot." We all laugh.  
"My first impression of him was that he's very gutter chic." We all laugh again.  
  
Michael and I arrived around two in the afternoon. We're leaving fifteen after eight.  
Eventually, we moved into the living room and watched a movie. Michael and I collected his cassettes and player into the car with the intention of displaying them in the living room at home. Liz shows me around the rest of the house. Telling me a story or two about the larger photographs in the house.  
His parents absolutely adore me. They're practically demanding we get married now.  
"Wait until December!" Michael nearly yelled at them. Liz went on to make the point that she and Art got married after six months and have been happily together ever since. I now know that it was…mostly happily ever after.  
The drive home had a light, easy air between Michael and I.  
"They're fantastic." I say at some point.  
"They love you." It clicks then that I have this massive ring and I'm being told to marry...and haven't said those three bloody words to this man.  
Do I love him now?  
Can I say that with 100% assuredness?  
"Do you?" I mumble, not really wanting to ruin the feeling in the car.  
"I care about you immensely." My heart breaks just ever so slightly but I can understand the hesitation.  
"I am absolutely enamored by you," I say, feeling obligated to respond. His grip on my hand tightens.  
We sleep in his bed after eating a small dinner of sweets and earl gray.  
I wake up around four, terribly hungry. Trying my best not to wake him, I slide out of the bed and down the stairs. My body tells me to eat the left over lo mein from a few days ago and I agree to it. My kettle whistles when Michael steps into the kitchen. I make both of us tea. We both half eat at the styrofoam take out.  
"What do you want to do for your birthday?" It hadn't dawned on me that it is the twentieth and my birthday is in three days.  
"Not sure. I think dinner and a show would be lovely."  
"Wow, how underwhelming." I laugh. We both eat quietly for a moment.  
“You can’t compete with being proposed to, really. What could you get me next? A new car?” I freeze, suddenly terrified that he might actually try to get me a car. “Please, don’t do that. I can’t drive and don’t really want to learn how.” He laughs, shaking his head.  
“Wasn’t in the plans, sweetheart.”  
“What are the plans, then?” His fingers lay the fork he held down on the counter gingerly while he moves to lean on his other hand. I copy his actions, smiling at him lazily.  
“Take you out to a nice dinner, maybe a show, show you around town a bit, pick out paint colors, get a nice hotel room.”  
“Why a hotel room?” He grins a sly grin at me. My heart pounds a bit.  
“Why would I want to ravish you at home?” I want to seduce him. I want to pull him more, deepen the intensity of the conversation. However…  
“Happy birthday, here’s my dick?” Michael, oh Michael. He pulls a fast one on me.  
“More like happy birthday, get on your knees.” This, for me, is the first time I feel sucker punched in a good way. My family always had a knack at throwing me off kilter but that was nothing in comparison. Even his tone throws me off.  
“So,” I begin once my thoughts are gathered, “you’re going to just have me sit around and wait for that?” His tongue quickly licks his lips, his grin returning.  
“That’s the plan.” We have a  
“Not if I break you first.”  
“You can try if you’d like.”  
This begins a battle that I was not planning for. Especially not this early in the morning.  
We don’t go back to sleep.  
I tell him sternly at seven that I have to go to work. I can’t keep calling out because he wants to be lazy with me all day.  
Plus, I get to think of different strategies to wage this war. There are only a few days. Since I failed this morning, I have more time to win before my birthday.  
Why am I such a deviant?  
  
At work, I am visited by a man who states that he is in a band that I’m designing the album art for. He introduces himself as Sam Nichols. He’s tall, muscular, black hair that is overly styled. His face is very chiseled. His bloody fingernails are painted. He must be the lead. I’m given a copy of their album, the one I’m designing for.  
“Listen to it, do what feels right.” I have to physically fight a sigh.  
“Of course, Sam. I’ll be sure to send any proofs I come up with to you.” Before he walks out of the room, I can’t stop myself from commenting on his hair. “Oh, Sam?”  
“Yeah, Estelle?”  
“Was it your intention to rip off Jerry Only?”  
He doesn’t get it. I’m ashamed of him.

When Michael picks me up, we get drive though burgers before heading home.  
I tell him about the guy, Sam, and the album. He takes it from me and puts it on.  
I fail to mention their band’s name.  
Michael recognizes them.  
“The Valor? I didn’t realize they were at your label.” I shrug.  
“I don’t much care who is on the label. I listen to a few songs, come up with some mild ideas and people just tell me feedback.”  
“Not emotionally invested in your work?” We scoff at each other.  
“Not really, no. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a good time but I don’t care much about the people themselves.” He laughs. For a while, we listen to the album.  
It’s actual shit.  
Musically, it isn’t bad. The lyrics, however, are a nightmare. One song has a line like ‘she can’t even care enough to fuck.’ We make a face at the same time.  
“They’re last album was great.” Michael says, shaking his head. “We played with them at a festival not too long ago, a year or so?” I shrug.  
“I see terrible vector art in my future…and a lead who will probably piss me off.” He laughs.  
  
Mikey puts on a movie, some sort of romantic comedy. My head rests on his lap as we watch the movie. Fingers in my hair lulls me to sleep. At some point, Michael wakes me up to reposition us. I’m turned into the small spoon while still on the couch. A Bruce Willis movie plays now. The good one with Samuel L. Jackson in New York City.  
When I wake up again, the telly glows a bright blue. The only light that was on in the room, the lamp on the side table next to us, has been turned off. Michael’s body heat keeps the back of me warm but my toes are frozen. I have no clue what time it is.  
“Michael,” I mumble, throat clogged, “Michael, wake up.” He groans quietly. My body attempts to move but is held down by Mr. Day. “We need to get up. I don’t know what time it is.”  
“Who cares?” Lips move against my neck, making me shiver.  
“You want to wake up with a crick in your neck?” The sound he makes sounds like he’s fussing, disapproval. “We have plans. The dinner.” He groans again. I try to move his hand away but he fights me. “At least let me check the time?” I grab his mobile off of the coffee table. The light burns my eyes. It’s a quarter past five in the morning.  
“It’s after five, love. Let’s go to bed.” He doesn’t fuss about this offer. As we untangle on the couch, we both make sounds of discomfort. My neck already hurts.  
Apparently, both of us are hungry also. A stop to the kitchen is made before we head up the stairs. We both drink water and eat biscuits.  
Michael’s face is covered in sleep marks, sleep scars, whatever you’d like to call them. Half of his hair is sticking up in several directions.  
I think I have some drool on my face, crusted on. Very attractive. It takes a few minutes before I’m able to speak normally, the gunk out of my throat.  
"What time does the dinner start?" The family dinner, hosted by the Day parents in their lovely home, is scheduled for some point this day.  
"Two, two thirty?" Relief. I did not want to deal with a morning disaster.  
"Lovely." We spend the of our ‘meal’ in relative silence.  
Our teeth are brushed. Piss breaks are had. Faces touch for a few minutes before we settle back down into sleep. He has his arm wrapped tightly around my waist until we wake up at eleven.  
  
He decides sharing a shower is a good idea by getting into mine while I have shampoo in my hair. Because Michael is sweet, however, he helps me wash the eye burning suds from my scalp and face. We manage to not break anything while both washing efficiently. We might also have a little bit of a romp. The water turning cold stops us.  
We have a light breakfast after being promised a hearty, mostly Italian meal for lunch.  
Michael wears his usual cocktail attire, not quite Sunday best. Nice pants, nice blazer, both black with an aubergine coloured skinny tie. He slicks his hair back, small pieces of his hair in front of his ears. His glasses are his formal pair, smaller squares that blend in with his bushy eyebrows.  
“I could eat you up, my God.” He blushes like crazy.  
Michael's cold fingers gently pull up the zipper on the back of my pastel pink, cap sleeve fit and flare dress. He adjusts my pendant on my chest.  
“I like your makeup with a nude lip. Looks sophisticated, less dramatic.” My turn to blush, then.  
My hair is half up, half down with pin curls and ringlets around my shoulders.  
A vintage inspired Estelle for this coming out party.  
  
We take a cab. Michael puts all of his accoutrements in my purse because the amount of things he felt he had to carry with him didn't fit in his small, tight pockets.  
It's probably ten 'til two when Michael and I arrive. We're the first ones here, thankfully. We put our coats on the hooks by the door that hold several thousand other things.  
"Some of Mikey's sweatshirts from middle school are still there!"  
We're sitting in the living room with Art ten minutes later when Ezra, Frank, and Frank's mum arrive. Hellos and introductions are exchanged by the time everyone else shows up. It's another round of hellos and hugs.  
"Everyone, there are finger foods on the table. More coffee too." Liz calls out to the gang of us. Michael and I get up from our established spots on the sofa and survey the foods. There is a vegetable platter, many different cheeses, and something Michael calls "pigs in a blanket." It was little sausages wrapped in a yeast crescent roll.  
"I'm sorry. What?"  
"You haven't had pigs in a blanket?"  
"Pigs in a blanket are for Christmas dinner and they're wrapped in bacon. This is American nonsense." Everyone laughs. Michael kisses my cheek. I blush furiously. It's the first time he's been affectionate in public. It wasn't enough to give us completely away but it was enough for me to feel less guilty.  
More mingling happens. The television is eventually turned on. The guys, except Frank, hunker down around the telly while everyone else helps Liz in the kitchen.  
I'm given the task of chopping veg. Everyone tries to do their given task while trying to find space to do it in. The breakfast table sits in the middle of the kitchen. Ezra and I make that our home base for prep. While everyone is left to their own, she elbows me, wanting me to lean in close.  
"Quit jabbin' me." Ezra scoffs.  
"I heard Geoff ask Milly why you're here."  
"Really?" She nods.  
"Mil said that you're family. He huffed at her. I wanted to punch him in the dick." I laugh loudly, louder than intended. We receive funny looks. Frank soon moves to sit with us, his potato pealing task becoming too much while he stood.  
"So, I heard you got a gift recently. A super fucking expensive one." As a last minute decision, I moved the ring from my left hand to my right. The fit was a little tighter but it saved me from having to explain too much, unless people knew about it already. My knife is placed flatly on the table before I reach across the table. Frank’s overly warm hand grabs my cold one, examining the ring. He tilts my hand side to side to watch the shine.  
“Shit, dude. That’s a legit diamond?” His eyes barely break away from the jewel to look at me. I nod, my mouth sitting in a funny, crooked smile. “Ezra said…twelve grand?” He whispers the cost. My head nods again. Frank’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “Fuck.”  
“That's what we all said.” His fingers release mine. I quickly go back to my chopping of carrots and celery.  
“Ezra’s is a fucking vending machine trinket compared to that.” Ezra cracks up. There’s a dispute that happens in the living room. Many men talking loudly over each other. Some laughter erupts from the talking. Michael then walks into the kitchen, a playful expression on his face. Our eyes catch, we both smile at each other.  
“All right?” He nods, moving around the table to stand by me. I feel his hand slide across my shoulders, prompting me to look up at him. The loud voices start back up, sounding like a playful argument. “You sure?” He chuckles, leaning down and planting a quick kiss on my lips. Our first kiss in front of Ezra or Frank is sweet and simple. It still makes me incredibly anxious. My cheeks flush immediately. When I turn back to my task at hand, Michael and I are getting looks from both Frank and Ezra. I decide to not acknowledge it.  
Liz, now seeing Mikey in the kitchen, gives him the task of chopping onions for a salad. Seeing the empty seat next to me, Michael opts to do the chopping with us. None of us can handle the smell. With teary eyes, we all abandon the table. Frank takes the opportunity to take a cigarette break. That sparks everyone else to want to take a cigarette break also. We all, the guys and their significant others, head outside. I manage to grab my purse before walking into the crisp April air. We're all standing around, lighting cigarettes when Michael takes his usual spot on my left. His arm wraps around my waist like normal.  
“Do you want one?” I offer him, not knowing if he would want one during this stressful time…Or maybe it’s just stressful for me. He shakes his head.  
“Not today. I already have enough of a stink on my hands.” He winks at me, I scowl. My head then turns from Michael to the group.  
It's then that I catch the very dirty look from one Geoff Day. For a moment, I’m confused. When Michael’s fingers move gently on my hip, I remember why I would be receiving this look. Mikey, completely unaware, talks to Ezra about something unimportant…I think something related to packing. The oldest Day brother’s expression then turns sour. Geoff takes one rough drag on his cigarette, holding it between pointer finger and thumb, before tossing it on the ground. His feet move him, his body hunched awkwardly forward, taking a few quick steps towards us. He stops close enough for me to smell his heavy musk of a cologne.  
"Are...are you guys together?" I blink at him for a moment. Everything about this question makes my heart race. Not anxiety, like expected, but anger raises my pulse. Michael starts to say yes but I cut him off.  
"Why does it matter?" His eyes burn into me.  
“Because, Estelle,” my name is said with such disdain, "he tells me absolutely everything. I would know if he were dating someone." Michael moves to speak but I cut him off again. My voice might be a little louder. This anger I feel might be the reserve from what happened at the housewarming party.  
"So, you're a grown man's keeper?" Michael’s arm falls from my waist. He moves just slightly in front of me.  
"I look out for him." He sounds defensive. His voice also just slightly louder.  
"So, I'm a fucking threat to your brother?" I realize then that everyone is now silent, practically in a circle surrounding us. Michael’s arm is crossed over my torso, very gently holding me back.  
"Geoff, man, back off. Seriously, we can talk abou-"  
"No, Mikey, I will not back off." All of his syllables are emphasized. "I care about you. I'm not letting a chick come between us again.” I feel my jaw fall just slightly. “I'm not going to let her hurt you." I want to throw my hands up, slap Geoff because he doesn't realize or remember anything. Because Michael and I have had more in depth conversations about our past relationships, I know he had his heart absolutely stomped on by a girl after they hit fame. Nessa, the girl Ezra said wasn’t worth his time, used him for his name. Her intention was to sleep with every member of Sister To Sleep and talk to a tabloid about it. Michael was the most susceptible to her advances because he was in a low point, lonely and all that. She quickly tried to break him down, isolate him. This is Geoff’s fear for me. Obviously, this isn’t my intention. Every other member of this band isn’t the least bit attractive to me…Except maybe Rob but there’s no interest there. Geoff has no real grasp on the reality that he has created. Michael has separated himself to keep himself from telling Geoff about Milly’s baby and the drugs. Mostly the drugs. Geoff has always been Michael’s enabler, the creator of bad habits.  
With the way Geoff thinks, he’s the victim.  
He will always be the victim.  
”You’re fuckin' kidding' me." I mumble, moving to stand beside Ezra, who is staring at Geoff with annoyed furrowed brows. My back is toward the group now as I watch the cars go by on the street. The residents of the neighborhood try to move around our gang on the sidewalk. My cigarette is nearly finished in one inhale. I have to fight myself to not throw the butt at Geoff.  
"If I were you, I'd back off and worry about you. I can handle myself." Michael's tone is harsh. Harsh but relatively calm.  
"Clearly not, seeing as how you think getting into a relationship days before you leave for a seven month fucking tour is a good idea!" Geoff is almost yelling now. My body turns to face the brothers as he speaks. Geoff is but steps away from being on top of Michael.  
"Is this really the time and place to talk about who can handle themselves?" Michael's voice remains surprisingly calm even though it’s filled some sort of anger.  
Milly then moves from her spot next to Rob, a metre or so away from Geoff. Her petite body moves between the brothers.  
"Geoff, baby, I think we could talk about this after lunch." Geoff reaches up, his hands on her shoulders.  
"No," he states, pushing Milly back into Rob, "This is happening _now_.” Ezra and I both tense up when Milly’s body collides with Rob’s. She has to stop Rob from saying anything to Geoff. “Mikey needs to stop getting involved with shit girls.” Shit girls? This man, who barely knows me…and was thanking me for attending his birthday party, has formed the in-depth opinion that I am shit? Not worthy of anyone’s love or affection?  
Has he looked in a fucking mirror?  
My body, now unable to ignore the rage induced adrenaline, decides to move. My hands tuck into tight fists while my body moves closer.  
"The _fuck_ , mate?!"  
The word ‘mate’ leaves my mouth as I see Michael's fist making contact with Geoff's left cheek. Geoff, being completely thrown off guard, stumbles back, landing on the stairs leading up into the Day house. Everyone, up until that point had stood back. Now, the sides have been chosen. Rob and Frank have moved to Mikey. Ray tried to catch Geoff as he fell.  
"Before you blindly judge someone who, by the way, you've put through far more turmoil than you realize, you need to," Rob has his arm around Michael's torso while Michael yells at Geoff, "step the fuck back..." Michael pulls away from Rob long enough to get as close to Geoff as he can. "Sober up," his tone is like venom. "And take care of your fucking pregnant wife!" His last words make all of us gasp. I haven't been able to breathe in five minutes. That doesn't change.  
"Bloody hell," I manage to mumble out. I catch Milly's eyes. She's close to sobbing. Geoff sits where he landed, staring wide eyed at nothing in particular. He looks completely out of it.  
I'm not ruining anything else.  
Without a word, I turn and walk down the street.  
I hear someone call my name but I refuse to turn around.  
I catch a cab, wanting desperately to go to the sanctuary that was Jemma's. I could go to the ranch, hide for the rest of eternity, but I have forgotten the damn address.  
I do the best that I can with my limited options. If I knew where the Isles hid their extra key, I would be going there instead.  
The cabbie is told the address of our apartment. I'm thankful when I see no signs of life around the building. When I'm inside, I sit pressed against the locked and dead-bolted door.  
  
My mind, everything I've felt in the last three months, swirls around in a sick jumble of anxiety. I'm suddenly glad I didn't have a chance to eat a full meal.  
Shit girl, Geoff said. No opinions have been changed or altered. Nothing, not even his brother's happiness sways that.  
Am I terrible for Michael? Is that what he means?  
Or am I just terrible in general?  
I'm not sure how long I sit here like this when someone bangs loudly on the door. It shakes my body. I almost scream.  
It's with a nervous quickness when I stand and stare out of the peephole on the door.  
Michael. His face is dark, a black expression sits on his features.  
Quick, fumbling fingers unlock the door, opening it with some caution.  
His expression doesn’t change when we make eye contact.  
“You left this,” he says with his thick voice. His hand then moves in my direction, handing me my coat that I had forgotten all about. I then remember that I had his wallet, keys and phone in my purse. I want to apologize, to hug him and say sorry over and over. The thought seems futile. My hands take my coat from him, moving away from the doorway. The taste that sits in my mouth now makes me want to vomit.  
“Want a cuppa? I’m making one for myself,” I mumble as I move toward the kitchen. Without looking, I toss my coat onto the couch. By the sound it makes, it lands on the floor. It’s a minute before I hear the door close and the deadbolt turn, his footsteps following me.  
My kettle is filled and turned on. I move to the refrigerator to gather things for the tea. The cold of the ice box chills my legs while I stare into the abyss of groceries and old condiments. I bend over, reaching to grab the milk, when I feel his hands on my hips. My gasp is quiet but heard over the sound of the nearly boiling water. Fear of dropping the milk makes me place it back on the shelf before standing up straight. His grip on my hips tightens. He attempts to turn my body to face him; I oblige him willingly. While staring at his face, one of his arms wraps around my lower back, pulling me tightly to him. The other arm closes the refrigerator door.  
His body guides mine to rest against the cold metal door. I’m thankful he doesn’t have a double doored fridge.  
It dawns on me that I should be afraid in this situation, I should be completely terrified. This man, who I watched punch his own brother, has me pinned. I assumed that this man was not capable of violence, especially against his best friend.  
However, I feel…a large mixture of things that all turn into a lump in my stomach. Could be lust, could be fear, could be love for this man, who defended my honor.  
The kiss I receive is almost desperate, hungry and hard. His arms wrap around my back, holding me as closely as he can to his body. It goes on for so long that I think I might pass out from lack of oxygen.  
When I’m allowed air, the kettle has been off for ages. His glasses are crooked from my hands touching his face. My dress has been half unzipped in the back.  
I adjust his glasses. If he were going to talk, I wouldn’t have been able to take him seriously. The black expression he wore has lightened some but not enough for me to be happy. My palms rest on his chest when I try to speak.  
“Michae-“ I started to whisper, he cuts me off at full volume.  
“I love you.” My face, which I think had a reserved type of expression, is now wide eyed and slack jawed. Motor functions have seemed to stop working for a moment.  
He moves then, his lips crashing into mine with a fierceness I can’t fight. I have no desire to fight it. He begins to pull away, placing a small, gentle kiss on my lips before focusing on my face. His expression is open but reserved. He’s trying to gauge my reaction.  
I’m still flabbergasted.  
My silence inspires him to speak. “I don’t care what my friends or bandmates have to say, what my parents have to say, what my fucking brother has to say. I could be kicked out of the band tomorrow and I would be tickled fuckin’ pink that I wouldn’t have to leave you.” I try to speak but no words come out. “I love you,” he says again. My stomach rolls, backflipping in my guts like a gymnast. “Estelle Marie James, I love you.” I feel tears begin to well up in my eyes. “I’ve loved you since I saw you in that ugly purple dress and ridiculous green Doc Martens.” His voice cracks a little. “I was staring at your belly…because I thought it was cute.” He sniffles. I kiss him, small quick kisses on his lips and cheeks. My face separates from him, tear stains on my cheeks. He’s done his best to not cry, I think. This day is one massive emotional rollercoaster.  
“I love you,” I manage to barely choke out a whisper. His face cracks a smile for the first time in probably hours. With effort, I clear my throat. “I love you, Michael Thomas Day.” One of his thumbs wipes a tear from my cheek. “For months, I’ve had that little grin you gave me at Ezra’s reception in my dreams. It was the first time I felt butterflies in ages.” Some how, his smile grows. He kisses me again, gently, lovingly.  
When my arms wrap around his neck, he pulls my legs up to wrap around his waist. He carries me, God help him, from the kitchen to the stairwell. I didn’t know he was so strong. He seemed like he was going to carry me up the stairs but I put a stop to that. I fuss until he releases my legs on the third step. Michael stands still on the third step while I slowly walk up the stairs backwards. Quick fingers move my ring from my right hand to my left. His brow raises at my action. I can’t help but smirk.  
The battle that we have quietly waged for days has come to its peak. The final battle in which one shall be the victor.  
We stare at each other up the stairs. Surprisingly, I don’t trip once.  
Once we reach the top of the stairs, he stands still. My back touches his closed bedroom door.  
I barely get a breath in before he’s on me.  
He shoves the door open, the knob banging against the wall.  
Hands are grabbing fistfuls of hair. Lips are practically being torn between teeth. In mere moments, I’m on the bed with a tall, thin man between my legs. At some point, I’m told to sit up.  
His warm hands unzip my dress, practically yanking it up my body. He strips himself of his shoes, socks, and jacket. I pull him to me by his tie before he has a chance to take it off. I’m put on my back once again. Not complaining, though.  
Lips make a trail down my body. My hands have found Michael’s hair yet again, clutching him as he makes his way down my chest.  
He moves, then, back between my legs. My thighs rest propped up against his.  
I watch him in silence as he loosens his tie, tossing it across the room. The shirt is next. His chest is flushed red, like his face. We kiss again, hands roaming over bodies. My bra is unhooked and tossed like his tie. I gently pull his glasses from his face. He doesn’t fuss when I toss them to the floor. His body moves away from mine again, sliding off of the bed. Somehow, his hands take my panties with him. His trousers come off in one swift motion. Silence surrounds us once again.  
His body is pale and pink. Our breathing never slows.  
It takes him a few moments to move back to the bed. Our legs rest against each other again. He is as ready to go as I am, from what I can see, but he doesn’t move.  
“What is it? What do you want?” Hands pull my hips tightly to his as he leans forward. His cock rests against my quim. It’s like I can feel his pulse throughout my body. Michael’s head rests against mine. His breath hits my ear, staggered and heavy.  
“I want,” he whispers, “to hear the sounds I haven’t made you make yet.” I feel his tongue slide down my earlobe before his lips make contact.  
  
Okay, Michael, you’ve won. I assume, in this situation since the desired outcome leans in my favor, that I have one. However, since you clearly are the dominate, take everything you want from me right now because it’s completely yours victor, you have defeated me in this war.  
  
I’ve never wanted someone more in my life than right now.  
  
When I gasp at the sensation of him entering me, he stops.  
“Are you okay?” I can’t speak, only nodding. “Stop me,” he tries to say with a straight face, “if you need to.” Another quiet nod. Another gasp.  
It’s a very odd feeling, having someone inside of you for the first time in months. I mean, of course, I am not complaining about the sensation. The person inside of me is and continues to be the most sexually considerate, able bodied, attractive man who has been in this position  
When our pelvises completely touch, his body leans forward. Our foreheads make contact.  
“Do you want this?” His voice is the quietest whisper I’ve ever heard. At first, I’m not sure if this is a legitimate question or some form of dirty talk. I respond in the best way I can.  
“Fuck me.”  
With each meeting of our bodies, I make a mental note of the bruises I’m going to have tomorrow.  
There are whispered words of affection and lust traded between our heavy breathing. I am asked continuously if I am okay. The thought, his being so worried about me, eases any of the tension I felt I had in this situation. It’s the first time in years I’ve been able to be at ease, feel safe, in this situation.  
I am relaxed, calm (as calm as I can be), and completely, 100% loved.  
I feel more full, in more than one way, than I have in a lifetime.  
Michael, having a very keen since of this, decides to take full advantage of my walls being completely down.  
He does what he set out to do.  
I, now with reckless abandon, make all of the sounds I feel so inclined to make. He does, in fact, talk dirty. He also spanks, pulls hair, and likes holding both of my arms back like reins.  
I am told to beg for climax at one point. I do, obviously. I am also told to beg for his climax. I do that too. Upon my request, he finishes inside.  
Any of the anxiety I feel about those hazards is drowned out by the absolutely sick love drunkenness I feel for this man.  
He moves from me after laying on me for a few minutes. With gentle hands, he cleans me up a bit before cleaning himself. When he joins me back on the bed, I turn to face him.  
“This is a very strange endorphin high I’m on right now.”  
“Yeah?” His voice is sweet. It makes my heart spike into my throat. A hand wipes the hair from sweat-slicked forehead. I nod. “It’s like taking an Oxy and not moving for a while.” My hand cups his jaw.  
“It’s like everything you’ve wanted for your life has slammed into your face.” His smile makes his eyes close. “God, I thought I felt like Milly but now I’m starting to sound like her. His laugh is harder than I thought it would be.  
After a little while, we both decide that we’re too sticky to lay around in bed.  
A shower is shared by the two of us.  
“You punched Geoff in the face,” I say through water.  
“You stood your ground,” he says while massaging the shampoo into my hair. “I’m proud of that.” No part of me can fight the urge to kiss him.  
The entire situation happens again.

  
We both dress in lazy, comfortable clothes and go out to get something to eat.  
“Geoff and I went for a walk after…uh…everyone gathered their thoughts,” he starts while he drives down the road. I believe Taco Bell is his choice for dinner. Perfect decision.  
“How’s your hand, by the way?” He scoffs. My fingers, which cocoon his punching hand, rub gentle circles on his skin. Asking hours later, after he’s used his hands for multiple tasks, seems a bit useless now but why not ask anyway.  
“Mom gave me an ice pack so it’s not terrible.”  
“Good.” The car is silent for a moment before he starts again.  
“Geoff thought you were going to keep me from him. He thought you already started doing it.” I roll my eyes. “I explained that it was his drug habits and the fact that I didn’t want to spill the beans about Milly.” He sighs. “I did anyway, though, but I guess that’s not the point.” The car smoothly pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant. He doesn’t speak again until he’s in a parking spot. “I told him I knew immediately that you were going to change my life.” My heart, my guts, spin. “He never expected you, especially not for me. He, uh…He told me that he kept having dreams about kissing you, you slapping him afterwords.” I feel my shoulders fall. “Even though I knew you wouldn’t want me to, I told him they weren’t dreams.” All of the moisture I had in my mouth and throat has vanished. “He feels like human garbage about everything. After he cried for a bit, I tried to tell him some happy stuff. Fill him in on what’s been going on.” Michael looks up at me from his lap, a small smile on his face. I nod, interested in hearing what he shared with his brother. “I told him you live with me, that you’ll be here for Milly because you were the first person to know about the baby. I told him I bought your ring. Apparently, twelve grand is a bit much on a ring for a two month long relationship.” We both chuckle, knowing full well the truth in that statement. “He apologized to me, not wanting to ever make me that angry again. I told him that I would gladly punch him over and over again if he wants to continue talking about you in a negative way.”  
“But he’s your brother, love.”  
“He’s not my best friend anymore. People disown their family all of the time. Why stop now?” I scoff, rolling my eyes.  
“You dramatic boys.” He smirks.  
“Before he ran back to talk to Milly, he told me that he wants to sit down with us before we head out for tour. There’s going to be a band meeting at some point, too. Everyone knows he was in the wrong, so I’m not stressed about it but…” His tone softens, his words a whisper. “You don’t have to talk to Geoff if you don’t want to, babe.” Pet names always get me.  
“I love you,” I whisper. His smile is shining and beautiful in the horrible lighting of this parking lot.  
"I love you."  
Instead of eating inside the restaurant, Michael opts to go through the drive through. We get what is called the Grande Meal; tacos and bean burritos galore. Michael also gets us two large drinks.  
“Baja Blast?” He laughs at my pronunciation of our drink.  
I make him stop by the local chemist, the pharmacy I guess, to pick up some reassurance for the happenings of the day.  
Even though I asked him to stay in the car, he decided to join me in the shop. When we reach the isle, he isn’t confused by my staring at these particular products.  
“You aren’t…you aren’t upset about this or anything?” His head shakes, giving me a funny look.  
“You think I want a kid? Especially now?”  
“Right?” We both share a small chuckle.  
“I didn’t realize Plan B was so expensive.”  
“You’ve had to buy this before?”  
“No, haven’t needed it before. I usually keep things covered.” I scoff. “I just never thought about how much it would be.”  
“Let’s say, for the sake of our health and sanity, I get on some sort of pill, yeah?” I snatch the box from the shelf. Michael grabs both a box of ‘ultra sensitive’ johnnies and some strangely labeled lubricant.  
“For future reference,” he says quietly.  
I laugh until we’re done checking out at the front counter.  
Geoff calls him while we’re on the way home. With reluctancy, Michael answers the phone. I check the time on my own phone. It’s nearly eleven.  
“Hey, man.” Mikey intentionally keeps his tone open, easy. His expression does not match his voice. Michael wants nothing more than to hang up on his brother. “No, not busy. Just driving home. Oh, one sec,” he pulls the phone from his head. With a swiftness, he changes the phone call to speaker phone mode, handing me the device. My hands want to bat the hunk of plastic away but hold it for Michael’s sake. “What’s up?” I hear Geoff’s wobbly sigh.  
“I just wanted to apologize again. I was being a real jackass.” My eyes stay glued to Michael’s face. When his eyes roll, I have to stifle a giggle.  
“Yeah. It’s whatever, man.”  
“No, it’s not whatever,” Geoff sniffles, “I didn’t realize she meant so much to you. I mean, I figured you guys were fucking around but…” His pause makes my eyes roll. Michael smirks at my expression.  
“I’m not the fucking around type, G. You know that. Stella really isn’t the fucking around type. She’s had too much shit happen to her to be that way.” Geoff sucks in a quick breath, like he stubbed his toe. I had almost forgotten he knows he forced himself on me.  
“I’m sorry.” Geoff sounds like a beaten down dog.  
“Again, like I said earlier, not the one.” Geoff sighs.  
“That’s why I called. Are you…you guys going to be free tomorrow?”  
“Tomorrow morning, yeah. I’m going to take her to Medieval Times for her birthday tomorrow night.” I have heard of this dinner show. Without realizing it, I might make a fairly odd squealing sound.  
"What was that?" Geoff says, chuckling.  
"Stella being told what her birthday activity is."  
"Surprise, Estelle." Geoff's tone sounds genuine. All of us fall silent.  
"G, I want you to tell me your opinion of Stella again, if you will." Geoff sits quietly for a moment.  
"Can she hear me?"  
"Obviously," I say without realizing it.  
“Oh, hey, Stella.”  
“Hello, Geoff.” My tone is flat, unamused. I hear him clear his throat.  
“Your opinion, dude.” Michael reminds the stalling Geoff.  
“Yeah, sorry…uh…I think Stella is cool.” There is the sound of shuffling before we hear a door close. “Stella is too cool, actually. I think that we, honestly, can’t compete with her on our own.”  
“On our own meaning?” Michael has to prompt him to explain. Typical. We park in the driveway. The smell of the burritos has started to seduce me.  
“On our own meaning that if we weren’t in this band, she’d be too cool to even look at us at parties.”  
“I’m not above anyone,” I say, not wanting him to continue on this ‘I’m holier than thou’ tangent.  
“No, you are just as human as the rest of us. However, you’re cultured. You had a fucked up childhood. You’ve had some pretty terrible things happen to you…but you’re very nonchalant, humble about your life. I make a living crying about my bad days. You buck up and deal with it.”  
“Please stop making me a golden example.” He scoffs.  
“I just mean that you are cooler than I am. I thought that when you first showed up and I’ll continue to think that.”  
“So, me being cooler than you, as you say, makes me a man-eating thoroughbred yuppie.” He quickly inhales again. Why he would think I wouldn’t call him out on this surprises me.  
“It makes me jealous that Mikey can get close to you and not feel intimidated.” It is at this very moment that I can no longer deal with being called intimidating. My throat is roughly cleared before I speak.  
“It’s not my face, I have a child’s face. It’s not my body. I’m not very tall or strong. It isn’t my hair color. You’ve seen thousands upon thousands of gingers in your travels. Certainly, it’s not because I’m a woman because you throw women around without a second thought.” I pause, no longer afraid to put him on the spot. “Is it the blatant physical attraction you have for me, the jealously you have for your brother, just in general, or the idea that I’m the new, shiny thing that people would be more interested in? I understand being intimidated meeting me at a party for the first time, because I’m a stranger and strangers are scary. Seeing as how you’re a grown man and are in a band that tours the globe, that wouldn’t occur to me to be true.” I pause again. My eyes intentionally avoid Michael’s stare. “No, it’s the fact that I am who I am and you have absolutely no idea how to interact with a person who will treat you like you deserve to be treated.” He doesn’t respond. My words keep coming out, so I choose not to stop them. “I will sit down with you, I will tell all of this to you, to your wife. I will bear the weight of your actions against me on my shoulders because you cannot handle it. If there is absolutely any weight on you, you crumble.” My brain has to work very hard to keep my voice at a reasonable volume. “So, my advice right now before you see me in person…Have a fucking in depth conversation with your wife. Understand that she is, without a doubt, the person who loves you most on this planet. Please know that whatever you’ve done or said about me, I will keep it to myself because I have no desire to break her heart. She deserves far more than you.” The side of Estelle that was half built by Ezra has shown herself. All three of us are silent now.  
“You were the first to know…about the baby?” Geoff says then, his voice thick with emotion.  
“Because I was sober enough to see her and paying enough attention to hear her.” My eyes move to Michael’s face. He looks almost proud. Michael, not ever needing to see me like this, has now seen me be very…blunt? Stern? Bitchy? Completely honest.  
“Thank you,” Geoff mumbles, “and I know I’m utter shit for her. I’m this creepy old fuck who lied to her for years.” He pauses, his voice sounding like he’s on the verge of tears.  
“Geoff,” I begin with a much softer tone than before, “I am more than willing to let you cry on my shoulder…tomorrow. I am currently staring at a box filled with burritos and tacos. I haven’t eaten all day.” Geoff makes an odd sound; a laugh mixed with a sigh.  
“Okay, guys. I’ll let you go. We’re…uh…at mom and dad’s if you need anything.”  
Relief.  
I get out of the car with my food while Michael ends the conversation with his brother.  
We sit at the kitchen island, quietly eating.  
“I hope you never have to talk to me like that.” I smirk.  
“I will if it’s necessary. Honesty is key, my love.”  
“No one has talked to him like that probably ever.” I stare at Michael’s face, a smirk growing on my lips.  
“And that’s why I’m terrifying.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual stuff in this one too. been a minute. sorry. :\

After a busy morning of errands, we are asked to make a visit.   
Michael and I sit in the other Day residence. Their dining room table is a small black square. The kitchen is just as cluttered as the rest of the house. A goose lives on top of the refrigerator.   
My back is rod straight, hands crossed on the table top. Michael sits the same way but more relaxed. Milly and Geoff sit across from us, bodies slumped in an odd way. They both look like messes.   
“Thanks for coming over guys.” I have failed to paint my face today. They don’t deserve the effort. Michael and I both picked out our uniforms for a new battle. Grey. We both wear grey.   
“It’s no problem,” Michael says with a nod. I fight a smirk at his tone. An awkward silence settles in around us.  
“Did you talk to her like I told you to?” My eyes, which had been focused on the odd piece of art on the wall behind Milly’s head, now land on Geoff’s sick looking face.  
“I told him everything.” Milly sounds like she did in the car weeks ago.   
“And what did he tell you?”   
“That he fucks up a lot when he’s high. He lies to me about what he takes.” She pauses, looking away. “He told me that he forced himself on you.” I take a deep breath, fighting my racing pulse.   
“Well, that’s out there, isn’t it? Did he happen to share with you what I said to him last night?” Geoff hasn’t moved since he sat down.   
“He told me that you would bear the weight of his guilt for him…for my sake.” I stare at Geoff when my brain decides upon my words.  
“Because you deserve more than this man will ever offer you.” No one says a word. “Right now in this state, he is rubbish. You’re going on tour, Geoff. You have hundreds of thousands of fans looking up to you every fucking day. I understand that this might be entirely overwhelming.”  
“It was for me,” Michael chimes in. My head moves in his direction. “The last song on the new album?” I nod. “It’s about me quitting the band.”  
“None of us thought this would happen.” Geoff’s words are quiet, almost mumbled. “We’ve all coped in ways we know how.”  
“I understand unhealthy coping mechanisms. We’ve all got our vices.” Geoff scoff laughs, shrugging. “What’s the plan, then?” Neither of them speak. “If you do not have a plan, I will make one for you.”  
“We have an idea.” Milly says, shrugging. I prompt her with judgmental eyebrows. “He goes on tour. They have guards with them anyway. One will have to stay with him constantly. When the detoxing happens, he has to bear through it.”  
“While in Europe?”  
“What else am I supposed to do?” Geoff’s voice, which had been barely audible the last five minutes, is nearly a yell.   
“Cancel the tour and go to rehab…but that can’t happen, can it?” I lean back against my chair with a sigh. “There are ways to combat the symptoms of withdrawal. Call a doctor, see someone before you leave.” I pause. “Milly, I’ve told you already that I’ll be here so please remember that. We’re practically sisters now since Michael and I are engaged.” It’s the first time I’ve said it.   
It will make the most impact.  
Geoff sits completely up now, staring dead at Mikey. Michael, being the beauty that he is, returns the stare full force.   
“You have no right to judge me,” Michael practically spits out. Apparently, Geoff was uninformed that this was an engagement ring. “Not when you thought lying to a teenager while stalking her was a good fucking idea.” Milly gasps. When I glance at her, the embarrassed blush has settled in on her face.  
“Boys, please.” My hands move into a defensive gesture, palms facing both of them. “Let’s not fight over relationship flaws. This conversation isn’t about that.”  
“What is it about?” Michael barely changes his tone to respond to me.   
“Geoff?”  
“It’s a thank you to Estelle for being there for my wife. It’s also a thank you to both of you for putting up with whatever the fuck is happening right now. Emotions are high, words might unintentionally be said. You say a lot when you’re upset with someone.”  
“For example?”  
“Calling you a yuppie when I know you’re practically from here. The same neighborhood as our grandparents.” He scoffs, shaking his head. He stares at the light fixture above the table for a moment. “I can’t handle Mikey loving someone more than me.” For some reason, I am inspired to reach over and take Michael’s hand. The look Michael gives his brother it similar to a gut punched expression. When Geoff finally looks back down at us, his eyes are bloodshot. “We were each other’s only friend for a very long time. It took our grandfather to get me out of my shell. Mikey’s got it covered socially. I don’t, never will. It’s why I found my wife online, why I was so afraid to tell her about myself. It’s why I get overwhelmed and take pills to quiet my brain long enough to have a decent conversation with someone in a room filled with hundreds of people. I’ve had more panic attacks in airport bathrooms than I’d care to admit.” Milly stands, pulling Geoff’s head and upper body into her arms. “S-So if I say some things to hurt either of you, it’s out of jealousy. Not over you or him. Over our breaking, fractured bond.” It’s an odd sound, hearing a grown man cry. Especially one you’ve just now felt any sort of sympathy for. Michael moves after a minute of Geoff quietly sobbing. Geoff stands to greet his hug. Their bodies practically slam together. Geoff cries for a few more minutes. Michael stands quietly, holding his brother closely to him.   
“I love you,” Michael mumbles into Geoff’s shoulder. “Don’t forget that, dude. I’m never going anywhere.” It inspires Geoff to sob a little more. The shell I had around my heart cracks open for this broken, beaten man. Geoff tries to get out a ‘I love you too’ but can’t muster the words. Milly then moves to the men, hugging both of them. I feel no need to move so I don’t. Mrs. Day gets Geoff a glass of water and a towel to clean himself up when the brothers finally separate. Michael’s expression is somber.   
“C’mere Estelle,” Geoff mumbles after throwing the towel on the table. Another deep breath fills my lungs. I move to stand in front of Geoff, seeing Michael’s eyes in his sockets. The shell cracks more. “I’m…There’s nothing I can say except how sorry I am for all of this.”  
“It’s alright,” I say with a nod, “I’m not upset about what you’ve said about me. I’m just worried about you and your family.” His arms wrap around me tightly. I would feel terrible if I didn’t hug him back. He hugs me for a while.  
“Thank you.” His words are mumbled. “We both appreciate you so much.” It takes all of me to not say anything about his appreciation being realized in the last twenty-four hours.   
“It’s no trouble, Geoff, no trouble at all.” He pulls away then. I try to step back but he grabs my left hand. The knee-jerk reaction to yank my hand away is combatted by his grip on me. “Sorry.” He shrugs, looking down at my very recently declared engagement ring.   
“You told dad before me.” Geoff speaks as though he might cry again. Michael steps behind me now. His hand meets my lower back, moving to my hip. When my body is pulled back by him, gently obviously, I realize that he has turned protective. My hand is pulled from Geoff’s grip. His body is just ever so slightly in front of mine.   
“Of course I did. I knew this would happen, G.” Geoff’s eyes well up again as he nods.  
“You know me better than most.” Milly has returned to Geoff’s side now, arms wrapped around his torso. His face settles in her hair for a moment. The sounds of kisses fill the silent room. “The ring is beautiful. It suits you.” Geoff mumbles into Milly’s scalp, arms wrapping around her.   
“Thank you.” My fingers react along with my body, which is now overcome with some strange ‘get away now’ anxiety. I grab a handful of Michael’s sweater, clutching it tightly behind him.   
“From what I know of you, what he says…I think he made a good decision.” His words, even if they are positive, make my stomach flip more.   
“I appreciate that.” I think my hand has begun shaking, I’m grabbing the fabric so tightly.   
Michael’s head moves, facing the wall.  
“Oh, shit. It’s after four. We gotta head out.”  
“What for?” Milly says something for the first time in minutes.  
“Gotta check in at the hotel.”  
“Hotel? Lyndhurst is like…right down the road?” I stare really hard at Michael’s face. Watching him smirk at her question smashes the anxiety that I had. The new feeling in my stomach is the warm wash of the endorphins Michael seems to give me simply by being near. My eyes shift to their faces. They both immediately understand. As much as they try to have easy expressions, both of their eyebrows are raised awkwardly.   
When Michael and I both start laughing at the same time, they both turn into tomatoes.

Before the Day family hullabaloo, I was awoken this morning by the sound of Michael dropping my main makeup bag all over my bedroom floor. He was trying to pack up my things so he could surprise me with having things done before we had to go.   
“You packed up my favorite clothes to wear to bed? And that terrible bottle of lubricant?” This was said in my sweetest ‘you just woke me up but I don’t mind’ voice. It broke him a little.   
I didn’t want to get up at half seven in the morning.   
We were back up and out of the house by ten.   
He drove to the bank, we merged our accounts. All of them. The bank manager, the one helping us with the process, warned both of us about the dangers of one shared account. I practically slammed my ring into the bloke’s face. We have the same bank, so account merger wasn’t a terrible hassle.   
“You sure you wanna do this?”  
“Are you sure you want me?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then yes.”  
After the bank ordeal, I demanded we go to the mall. Actually, I demanded to be dropped off at the mall.   
“What?”  
“Just drop me off, go get what you need from the practice space. I’ll be fine.”  
“I’m not just going to drop you off alone at the mall.”  
“I go out shopping alone all of the time.”  
“When was the last time you went out alone?”   
“Before I moved in.” He got me.  
“You’re not going in the mall alone.”  
“I want to get something for you, damnit. Let me go in by myself.”  
“I’m going in with you but I’ll let you shop in peace. We are on a time deadline, though.” We both groaned at each other.  
I managed to slip into two stores and make purchases without him noticing what I buy. One store was a plus size women’s shop. A black lace chemise spoke to me so I had to buy it. Gift #1, I suppose. The next store was some sort of new age, one with the universe, kind of store. They did have an appealing array of handmade metal jewelry. I got Michael a thin but wide-ish flat silver bangle. It’s a full circle instead of most of the cuffs that sat in the jewelry case. I don’t know if he’d wear it but I’m sure I’ll find out.   
In my head, I justified it like it being his ring to wear. My sign of claiming my territory.   
I was scanning the isles in a shoe shop when Michael walked quickly up to me.   
“It’s 2:30. I don’t want to be the buzzkill be we have to go talk to Geoff and Milly before 4:30. Check in is at 5:00.” He tossed our bags, because he did some shopping too, into his backseat and now here we are.   
He sped all of the way to the practice space to fetch a flash drive, of all things.  
We were back at home by fifteen after three. I grab a few little things from the apartment while Michael went to their side before I showed up around half past three.   
It’s 4:45 and we are attempting to find parking in the hotel’s parking garage. They charge too much for parking. Michael told me to wait in the car while he ran to check in.   
I play on my phone for ten minutes before I hear the tap on my window. Good thing I didn’t need to use the toilet. He opens the door for me, smiling at me.   
“Ready?”   
“Of course.”  
He carries most of the heavier things while I carry our shopping bags and my purse.  
Walking through the lobby, I feel a scowl form on my face. The inside of this place looks incredibly pretentious. The color scheme is nice, neutrals with deep plum and navy. However, I cannot excuse the atrocious chandeliers or terrible furniture.   
We reach an elevator. Gold and silver monstrosity. Michael sees my expression in my reflection. His head shakes just ever so slightly.   
He stops at a door, presumably our door, and turns to face me.   
“Before we go in, just know that the rooms are better than the lobby.” My expression is flat. “I picked this place because the view is lovely, it’s in the heart of downtown, and the bathroom doesn’t have a door. Just a wall separating the two spaces.”  
“Why did you want that?” He adjusts our bags on his shoulder.  
“Options.” I quietly laugh as he unlocks the door.  
Large windows line the wall opposite the door. The furniture is modern but tasteful. Our bathroom, indeed, has no door. Bonus, a massive walk in shower. Michael puts our bags down in the corner of the room, next to the desk that is in every hotel room. He comes back to me, since I’m still standing in the alcove, to retrieve the bags I carry. I hand him his shopping bags and my purse. The funny look I receive from him makes me blush.  
“I don’t want you to see what’s inside yet. You might sneak a peek.”   
After I add my lace chemise bag to the pile, I sit on the bed with his bangle bag tightly wound up in my hands. He sits beside me with a sigh.“What do you think?”  
“That bathroom is worth it.” He smiles.  
“What do you have there?” I didn’t realize I was clutching the bag so tightly. Of course, they put the bangle in a box before bagging it. Here’s to hoping I didn’t crush the box in my awful Hulk hands. With slow hands, I move the box to him.   
“For you.” Michael smiles, taking the anxiety ridden object from me. “I don’t know if you can wear it all of the time with…Do you guys have costumes?” He laughs quietly, the nearly crushed box now out of the bag.   
“We do. I actually have a jacket fitting tonight.”  
“What?” My tone is almost offended. I assumed tonight was my night at the Round Table jousting extravaganza.   
“They’re coming here for the final fitting. It won’t take long.” I’m suddenly regretting getting him anything. “The plan was to stay in tonight, anyway. I brought games.”  
“What, like Monopoly?” His teeth shine in his smile.   
“We can go get that, if you want. I mean like…WarioWare.” He means video games. I’m instantly more excited for staying in.   
Up until recently, I haven’t dabbled much in the video game world. I know the plastic guitars and the dance pads with arrows you find at arcades. I have a DDR machine in Manchester, actually.  
Michael has shown me the way, the truth and the light: Mario, StarFox and all that Link has to offer us.   
He has also shown me Call Of Duty.  
I don’t want to talk about that so much.   
Michael opens the box. His eyes stay locked onto the bangle for a few moments. He grabs the piece of jewelry, tossing the box to the other side of the room.  
I am surprised when his left hand slides through the metal with relative ease. With his bony wrists, it suits him. Doesn’t look too wide or too obtrusive. My intentions exactly.   
“I wanted to put my mark on you too. It’s not twelve thousand dollars but I thought it would suit you.”  
“Stainless?” I nod. “I don’t have to take it off.” He hugs me then, tightly. Lips make contact with the skin on my neck multiple times. His body pulls back, planting the same kisses on my lips. “I love it.”   
“I love you.” His crooked smile makes me blush.  
After a little bit of laying on the bed and talking, I decide I want a nap.   
“What time is the fitting supposed to happen?”   
“Eight or so?” It’s six now.   
“Wake me up beforehand?” He nods. “What are you going to do?”  
“Take a shower, play a game? Might nap with you.” I halfheartedly nod. He moves off of the bed, moving the blankets to lay over my body. I’m out in minutes.   
My body is jolted awake by the sound of Michael laughing.   
“Laughing doesn’t answer the question, man.” I hear Frank’s voice but through a muffled speaker.   
“Way to be too interested in my sex life.”  
“I’m interested in her’s too. She deserves better than what she’s had.”   
“So, me having sex with her is the epitome of the best?” My face turns into a confused mess of an expression. They’re talking about us.   
“I’m just saying, man…after getting that ring, she should expect a good time.” Michael laughs again, quieter this time.   
“That doesn’t matter, dude. You know none of that matters to me.”  
“From what I’ve heard, it definitely matters to her.”  
“I called to talk to you about something else.”   
“Okay, go ahead.”  
“She told G and Mil earlier that it is an engagement ring.”  
“I thought you guys worked something else out.”   
“Maybe she said it so Geoff would calm down. It was the opposite. He, like, started sobbing, said he couldn’t handle me loving someone else more than him.”  
“Dude.”  
“Right?”  
“Is everything good now?”  
“It’s got to be. The next year, we’re going to be too close too often for things to not be good.”   
“Do you love her more than Geoff?” Frank’s tone changed. I hear Michael moving. My body tries to pretend to be asleep still. He has moved to my side of the bed.  
“Of course I do. I punched him for her. It’s a completely different territory, though.” His words are quiet. The backs of his fingers move gently against my jaw. I have to fight to not react. “Finally told her I loved her.”  
“Good on you, man. That means you’ve totally fucked by now.” Michael sighs. My eyes pop open. He doesn’t see, however, because he has rested his hand over most of his face. His hair is wet, he’s wearing just his pants and he smells strongly of sandalwood.   
“Good thing it wasn’t on your sofa, Mr. Isle.” Frank laughs, then. Michael, with surprised eyes, stares down at me.   
“Hi.”  
“Hello…both of you.” I move to sit up. Michael takes a few steps back. The digital clock on the side table reads 7:05. What a pathetic nap. While moving across the room to my bags, I decide on a lovely response to these silent men. “Please, do continue talking about us and all of the gratuitous amounts of anal sex we’ve been having. My gaping anus and I are going to go take a shower.” Neither of them react. I move past Michael, slapping him on the bum. His entire body twitches in reaction. “Good evening, Frank.”   
“Night, Estelle.” Frank’s voice sounds like an awkward half laugh. I don’t hear either of them speak again.   
The water pressure is lovely but I can’t stand around and enjoy it for too long.   
My outfit, after drying off, is my favorite sleep shirt, a pair of jogging bottoms and, because I feel obligated, a bra. When I turn the corner out of the bathroom, I see Michael sitting on the edge of the bed. The bangle twists on his bony wrists mindlessly. He’s wearing decent clothes.   
“Should I put on more than this?” I say, still eyeing him while standing a reasonable distance away. He doesn’t answer. I move to my bags, pulling out a simple dress I shoved in after Michael packed for me. As soon as I have the dress on, there’s a knock at the door. My hair is quickly pulled into a massive wet bun on top of my head. A man and woman, faces I don’t recognize, walk in after Michael opens the door. They both have black hair, wear simple black clothing but look relatively friendly.   
“Mikey! Lovely to see you,” says the woman. Awkward hugs are had.   
“Hey man, long time no see,” says the man.  
“It’s been a while, come on in. Someone you should meet.” Out of politeness, I move forward to stand next to Michael. His arm wraps around me, like usual. “Sasha, Marcus, this is my fiancé, Estelle.”  
“Fiancé?! We saw you in January, single as can be.” Sasha, whose dark creamy complexion creates envy in my stomach, eyes me suspiciously.   
“Things move quickly when you’re both unemployed and bored.” I say. Michael squeezes me, chuckling. “Lovely to meet both of you.”  
An awkward pause fills the room. Marcus, being the savior, holds up a garment bag.  
“Let’s see if this damn thing fits you.”  
I move to sit in the middle of the bed, blanket over my lap. Michael keeps his plain t-shirt on while changing into the costume’s trousers and jacket. The bottoms fit snugly until they hit the knees, flaring out at the bottom just so. The jacket has a high collar that doesn’t button until the collarbone. The coat looks like it was based off of an overcoat design. There are large vents in the front and back, buttons on the sleeves and down the front. When they zip up the hidden zipper, Michael tries his best to adjust his hair. His very odd faux hawk/pompadour style suits the outfit completely. He doesn’t wear his glasses. They have been having a quiet conversation about the fit and design. According to Marcus, the vents will help while Michael is playing his bass…Since he likes to awkwardly lean and poke his pelvis out a bit too far. They have made the right sleeve a little less tight so he can push it up while playing. Sasha cracks a joke about his ugly sweatbands that he wears. When the tailors seem to be satisfied with poking and prodding Michael, he turns to face me.  
“What do you think?” On my knees, I crawl over the sheets to the costumed man. He steps up to the edge of the bed, eyes settled on my face. My hands fiddle with the collar, touch a button or two, trace the white piping down the front.   
“Are you meant to look like you’re in a battalion? It is a parade, I suppose.” He smiles his crooked smile at me.   
“Geoff’s vision. We followed through.”  
“Sweethearts.” He gives me a small laugh. Our lips meet for a moment. “It looks lovely, darling. The fit is perfect. Very Sergeant Pepper.” Michael nods. I lean to one side, looking at the other man in the room. “The vents were a fantastic idea. He’s a bit too crotchy with his bass.” They all chuckle.   
“All of them have a different jacket design. Mikey’s is the longest.”  
“I picked the overcoat,” Michael mumbles to me. I get a kiss on the cheek.   
As soon as they’re here, they’re gone.   
Michael says goodbye to them, that he’ll see them again on Thursday.   
We order room service because we can’t be bothered to go out and get anything. He gets a steak, I opt for some sort of shrimp scampi.   
We do, in fact, play WarioWare. I beat him. He gets fake upset about it, tackling me to the bed.   
Our bodies intwine to the menu music of the game.  
It sets a good rhythm for us.  
He remembers the johnnie.   
We both bite each other’s necks.  
I get too much inside of my own head, flashes of the past two days won’t stop flickering in my brain.   
“Fiancé,” I mumble out, mid thrust. He stops, staring at my face. We take the moment to catch our breath. He repositions himself, sitting on his knees. His arms move underneath my body, pulling me up to him. Legs reposition, my body is moved to sit on his lap. He hugs my torso tightly to his. Our hips meet, I gasp.   
“Does wife sound better to you?” His thick voice covers me in goosepimples. I tighten my grip on his neck as he moves our bodies himself.   
“Yes.” I very quietly answer a rhetorical question. He wasn’t expecting a response to this, I’m sure, but I felt inclined to give him one.  
It dawns on me a few moments later that this was another proposal. Our indirect questions, indirect answers about this marriage thing.  
Three months in and we’ve done this three times.   
He moves us again, me on my back. I hold his face in my hands. Lips meet, foreheads touch.  
“Ask me,” I speak amidst our heavy breathing. His body moves up. Sweat clings to his hair, making the once clean strands stringy. It dangles from his head like a curtain. He doesn’t stop his motions as he stares at my face.  
“Marry me.” It isn’t a question. It is spoken in the thickest voice he can muster. My legs wrap tightly around him, pushing him farther in.  
“Yes.” His large smile makes the warmth that has built up in my guts spill over.  
I hope I don’t regret that answer in twenty minutes.

We sit, facing each other on the mess of a bed, a large bowl of ice cream between us.   
Cookie dough and vanilla, he let me pick.   
Next to the foot of the bed sits a trolly with three empty mugs that once held espresso.  
Michael had two and half of mine.  
Our white hotel robes cover our red, splotchy, sex worn bodies.  
“What would you be doing if you weren’t in a band?” The spoon hits my tongue as I watch him think.   
“Probably be an engineer. I was going to school for it before I dropped out.”  
“Mechanical?” He shrugs.  
“I thought medical, actually. The idea of making machines that would potentially save a life sounds pretty appealing.” I go in for another bite. “What would you do if you weren’t an artist? If that didn’t pan out for you.” My answer disappoints me.  
“I would have stayed with Oscar. Been what my brother is. Some sort of professional networker. Oscar tried to get me to quit Uni, actually.” Michael’s eyebrows raise, asking a silent ‘why?’ I sigh. “He had to do a lot of traveling. He wanted me with him always. I was the one to defuse his awkward social situations. Mostly by me being the butt of most of his jokes.”  
“The fuck?” I shrug.   
“Something was better than nothing for me, at the time.”  
“You were with him up until you moved, though, right?”   
“I saw him once a week, at the most. He fucked around with other girls, I know. After a point, it was just an awkward obligation I felt I had. Moving was the only way I was able to rid myself of him without being harassed.”  
“Weird dude.” I nod. His expression is some sort of concern, shaking his head.   
The next question I think of…I might regret asking.  
“Have you ever wanted to marry anyone else?” Michael sits back, chewing on the inside of his lip.  
“I thought I wanted to marry Rachel. You know, my first girlfriend.” I nod, having heard bits and pieces of information about her. She was tall, thin, bottle blonde. I saw a photo of her online, because obviously, I looked up all of his exs. Her nose is obtrusive and doesn’t suit her oddly shaped face. “She was the first girl to show an interest in me. I wasn’t even a blip on the radar, you know?” I nod, jealous of his recollection of her. Estelle, you knobhead. “But…uh…I never got the chance to propose. Geoff asked me to join the band in my second year at NJIT. I felt obligated. He was so passionate about his music. It felt right, college didn’t. Rachel didn’t like that. She thought I was a failure for dropping out.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “She dumped me…maybe five hours before the first Sister To Sleep show.” I chuckle, shaking my head.   
“What a burke.” He nods.   
“You?” My head shakes, an odd, dismissive frown settling on my face.  
“I always thought I’d be some sort of spinster. At some point, write books about my shit life. Be late in life famous.”   
“You would have dated, though, right?”   
“Of course, but never marry. If you, yourself, would have run into me in Manchester back in November and asked me ‘Estelle, do you think you’ll ever get married?’ I would have told you a flat ‘no,’ and probably laughed at you.”  
“And what about now?”  
“Now I adore a man who sparked the idea that I was worth more than that.” I pause, looking away. “What made you want to quit the band?”  
“After that disaster that was Nessa…I was emotionally drained, overwhelmed. We had played a few stadium shows after that. Anxiety was so bad, I threw up every day.” My face sets into a frown at the thought. “Started taking meds for it but after I took a couple of weeks off, the knots in my stomach settled.” I reach over, sliding a few fingers across his jaw. We’re both face touchers. Odd. He gives me a half-hearted smile, sighing. “I really hate touring.”  
“I know.”  
The bowl of ice cream is moved to the trolly. I move, going to the bathroom. He follows.  
My hair is matted up and around on the back of my head. There are obvious marks, large red circles on my neck. My eyes catch his neck in the mirror as he stands beside me. His looks worse.  
“We’re brutal to each other.” Our eyes meeting the mirror. He is staring at me with intensity.   
“You said yes.”   
“You asked me.”  
I’m attacked again.  
The shower is a lovely place to fool around, especially in a hotel. The hot water doesn’t run out.   
We don’t actually do any bathing.  
We share a towel, since there was only one clean one left.  
As my sleep shirt falls onto my shoulders, Michael’s arms wrap around my waist. His head settles in on my shoulder.   
“Happy birthday,” he says quietly, kissing my neck. My eyes catch the digital clock on the night stand. 12:16.  
“Happiest one in years.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after this is where my brain sorta fizzed on me.

“This yellow knight bloke is a knobhead!” I try to say to Michael over the yelling of the crowd.   
My hands are covered in chicken grease, crumbs of bread, and a little bit of the expensive cocktail I spilt on myself.   
“You’re bias!” He bumps me with his shoulder, laughing.  
“Of bloody course I am!” My blue knight flag waving violently above my head.   
It’s half past noon, I’m a little tipsy in public.   
The yellow lance strikes the blue shield, busting to pieces. Everyone cheers. I look over at Michael, then. He yells like I do, arm lifted in the air victoriously.  
My brain decides now that it is a great time to remember that this man will be gone for months in two days. All of the panic, worry, stress, and loneliness hits me at once.   
The feeling is similar to the wind being knocked out of my lungs.   
Air can’t enter my body fast enough.  
I think I’m hyperventilating. Is this a panic attack?  
My hands hold my head, trying to block out the noise. It feels like minutes, hours, that I’m like this.  
An arm wraps around my shoulders. I hear words being said to me directly but I can’t focus on what they are.  
My body is practically lifted by my shoulders. With slow, careful steps, I am guided up and out of the arena. I have a hard time keeping my eyes open.   
The side hallway, where the bathrooms reside, is where we end up.   
Michael stands in front of me, rubbing my shoulders and arms. His voice is quiet, soothing. Slowly, I try to move my stiff arms.   
Breath enters and exits my body like a panting dog.   
His hands take mine with hesitancy. When I’m able to look at him, I notice that the expression that sits on his face is very odd.   
He is incredibly worried about me.  
“Was…Was it the noise?” He whispers to me while his thumbs move slowly over the backs of my hands. I shake my head quickly.   
Nothing I could say or do would stop the tears from falling down my face. We hug then. I grip him tighter than I ever have before. More tender, soft words come from his mouth as his hands rub my back.  
Michael lets me sob on him for five minutes, easily. I don’t remember saying I wanted to go to the car, but he tells me we can.   
The door closes beside me. Any breathing I can manage to do is deep, almost exaggerated. Nothing I do changes it.   
He holds my hand while we quietly sit in the car for several minutes with my odd breathing. Once I’m calm enough to take a normal sounding breath, I turn and look at Michael.   
“What’s wrong?” He whispers, his expression looking very strained, extremely worried.   
“Wednesday,” I manage to whisper out. Today, my birthday (the 23rd of April), is Monday. The boys are on a plane, headed to LA before really starting the adventure that is the world tour, on Wednesday (the 25th of April).  
I get the next 36 hours with this man.  
The frown that sets in on his face makes me frown too.   
I need to remember that the weaker I appear, the more it will break him. With a deep breath, I set a smile on my face. It isn’t a strong, toothy smile. It’s small, controlled.  
“I’m fine. Sorry. It just hit me all at once.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed.  
“It’s okay to not be okay, Estelle.”  
“I have to be okay to make our time last.” He sighs at me.   
“Do you want to go back inside?” I shake my head quickly, the tendrils of a headache now growing behind my eyes. “Okay. I’m going to go settle whatever bill we might have left. I’ll be right back, okay?” I nod. His fingers gently lift my chin. Our eyes meet and guilt floods my body. Michael will continue to have this expression until I can change his mind about how I’m feeling. Damn. He plants a gentle, warm kiss on my lips.   
“I love you,” I mumble as he pulls away. The car door is open and his body is out of it faster than I can realize.   
“I love you,” he says before closing the door. My body flinches at the sound.   
I’m not sure how long I’m sitting in the car before he returns. He doesn’t get in the car immediately, however. He’s on his mobile. Michael’s expression is still stained with worry. Body language is a fickle thing. I’ve never seen a man pace with such tension outside of a car before.   
“…we talked about last night? Yeah, gonna have to cancel.” With all of my energy, I try my very best to eavesdrop on this conversation. “She just had a panic attack at the show. I don’t think a crowd is the best idea.” When his words stop, his body stops. I assume he’s listening to the other end speak. “I know, dude, I’m sorry. I can’t help this shit. She can’t either. Don’t be pissed at us.” If I had a way to scrape under my already clean fingernails, I would be doing it. Something to distract me sounds lovely. “I’m sure you guys are already good to go but…” His words drop to a low volume, making it nearly impossible to hear. “If she’s up for it, sure.” I sigh at myself, unsure of the plans he made with someone else…but I’m clearly ruining them. “Later, dude.”   
Michael gets in the car then, looking at me once he’s settled in his seat.  
“Wanna head home?” I look down at my hands. My shoulders shrug involuntarily. “Okay.” He sounds a little less worried now but still off.  
The car is silent for more than half of the ride home.   
“I’m sorry I ruined your plans.” No part of me wanted to mention it but it kept bouncing around in my brain until it fell out of my mouth.   
“What? You didn’t ruin anything, babe.”   
“I did, though. I heard your conversation.”   
“Oh,” he says with a very quiet sigh. “That was just Frank. Before you woke up yesterday, I was talking to him about…I don’t know, throwing you some sort of party for your birthday.” I feel my entire body sag as I stare at Michael’s face. “It wasn’t going to be this big thing. Just people over at their place, food, maybe a movie. I just wanted to surprise you with one last get together before we head out.”   
“I’m sorry.”  
“Why are you apologizing?”  
“Because I’ve ruined everything.” He shakes his head, an odd smile growing on his lips.   
“No one can prevent themselves from having a panic attack, Estelle. You didn’t ruin anything.”  
He stops by our preferred convenience store. Our usual supplies are purchased: my cigarettes and Coke, his peppermint gum and Mellow Yellow.   
We both have a smoke once he’s parked in the driveway.  
“I’m gonna go tell Geoff and Mil to not go to Frank’s place. Don’t wait for me, okay?” I nod, he kisses my cheek.   
I finish my second cigarette with my negative thoughts.   
Distractions are a cheap, not very effective way of solving a problem.   
My hands feel around until I feel the button that opens up the trunk of the car. After digging under all of our luggage, I just barely find my first purchase from yesterday.. With a shake of my head, I decide to not grab anything else from the back of the car.   
I am inside and upstairs in less time than I thought imaginable. My hair has been fickle all morning. Now, however, I decide to let the monster free.   
Frizz and odd curls fall over my naked shoulders as I pull the lace chemise over my head and down my body.   
Yes, let’s distract ourselves from more emotional damage by covering it up with dopamine and oxytocin!  
I’m standing in the bathroom, staring at myself, when I hear the front door open and close.   
“Estelle?” Michael sounds worried when he calls out to me.  
“Is it just you, love?” I hear him scoff a little.   
“Yes, ma’am.” His tone makes me smile. My body moves from the bathroom to the landing of the stairs.   
He moves back into the living room from the kitchen, perhaps looking for me. His foot lands on the first step before looking up the stairs. Michael’s eyes are very wide behind his glasses.   
This is the moment I realize that this flimsy piece of fabric that cost far too much is the first time I’ve attempted to be actually sexy. Not just flirty and sexual but putting in actual effort to be appealing, alluring.   
Any makeup I had on has been wiped off.  
My hair, which I didn't care about two minutes ago, is now a thing of absolute panic in my mind.   
There are circles under my eyes.  
I probably smell from sweating while crying. Anxiety takes a lot out of you, it seems.   
“Hello,” I mumble, half smiling at this confused man.   
“Hi.” His tone is questioning but at almost full volume. He’s confused, for sure. The cold draft I get reminds me that I’m completely bare assed under this flimsy piece of fabric.   
“So, remember that other thing I got? That I didn’t want you to see?” The sly smirk I get in return gives me goose pimples down my legs. Shaving is a waste around this man. I watch as his gaze moves down my body before he nods once, mostly to himself. His body moves up the stairs now, at a reasonable pace. Because of my unwillingness to move from the landing when he reaches the top of the staircase, I am pulled tightly to him when our bodies meet.   
“What are you doing?” He mumbles into my ear, hands rubbing gently up and down my spine. My arms are around him, holding on like life depended on it.  
“I’m getting the most out of my fiancé before he leaves forever.” He chuckles into my ear, his breath making my knees wobbly.   
Michael pulls away, guiding my body with his into his bedroom.   
When I am planted on the bed, he goes about the task of taking off things that would be uncomfortable to bring to bed.  
“You better take those bloody socks off.” He quietly laughs, shaking his head while trying to tug off his jeans.   
Michael, my oddly lanky beauty of a man, stands in front of me in his unders and white v-neck t-shirt. He did take his socks off, thank Christ. Gently, his hand brushes my hair away from my face.   
“You’re gorgeous. Fucking…beautiful. I can’t stand it, to be absolutely honest with you.” A blush creeps up my chest and neck as he speaks. “It's your birthday and I owe you a little something, sure.” I scoff, he smirks. “You’ve been through a lot in the past hour or so. While I’m sure sex is something that will help…it feels like I’d be taking advantage of you.”  
“What?” My expression probably reads flabbergasted because that’s how I’m feeling. “I’m the one in the lingerie, here. Inviting it, even.” His head shakes. Can tension headaches form from your eyebrows being incredibly drawn in? Probably. I shall be testing that today.   
“I will lay down with you. I will be involved in some heavy petting, of course. However, make you feel good sex is only a short-term solution to this problem.” I stand up then, a little put off.   
“Problem?”  
“Yeah, problem. I don’t want this to happen to you again.” While trying very hard to feel and understand that he is concerned for me, I just become annoyed, angry even. If he won't give me what I want, I’ll find it in some other form.  
Treats.  
I brush past him, moving to the stairwell.   
“Estelle, wait.”  
“No, I’m sorry, I’m dealing with a problem.” He groans.   
The refrigerator door is open before he gets to the kitchen. There is a vanilla Snack Pack, the jar of baby dill pickles, both the block of mild cheddar and the block of pepper jack cheese, and the last can of Coke on the counter beside the refrigerator by the time he’s moved to stand beside me.   
“Estelle.” My body whips up, standing as straight as can be. With restraint, I close the door and face him. We make eye contact before I cut him off.  
“I do not feel unwanted. I do not feel unattractive. I do not feel like you don’t want to fuck me.” While all of those thoughts had crossed my mind, I have to stop him from going on that little rant before it even begins. I know better…mostly. “What I do feel is sad because, honestly, I already miss you.” My tone, my words, all feels too vulnerable. His expression breaks. “And, please, forgive me for wanting the little bit of intimacy I can still have while you're here. I mean, if you can't go any more, sure, I understand that. We’ve been going pretty hard for the past few days. But don’t put this on me being emotionally broken up, damaged. I was broken before I met you and I will continue to be broken until I die. Not you, not anyone, can change that. So, instead of getting that comfort, that intimacy I could be getting from you, I turned to the other thing in my life that hasn't failed me.” I bump him out of the way with my hip, gathering up my snacks in my arms. Quietly, he follows me to the couch. I turn on some crap cooking show on the telly. The throw blanket rests over my lap. My snacks live in the hole my legs make. Michael sits next to me, still silent. We sit, staring at a woman making some awful looking pasta dish for a bit. At some point, he takes the cheddar from me while I take bites of the pepper jack with little care.   
The food has done little to make me less angry.   
In fact, Michael taking my cheese has made me more angry.  
It’s probably not him taking the cheese, it’s probably the fact that he hasn’t said a word to me in nearly twenty minutes.   
The credits of the show roll. My head turns to look at Michael. He is staring back at me.   
“When’s the Internet bill due?” I want to slap him. There were days at the office where we would discuss random things, like bill due dates, via email or text message. I sent him a lot of pictures of kittens, also, because why not.   
“The internet and cable bill is due the tenth of every month.”  
“Rent?” My eyes move down to his lap. He has eaten a big chunk of the cheddar.   
“The fifteenth.”  
“The other utilities?” We make eye contact again.  
“Is this some bloody quiz? Everything else, one big bill, is due on the twenty-fifth.” He begins taking things from my lap, placing them on the coffee table.  
“The credit card?” I want to slap his hands away but don’t, confused.   
“You paid it off last month.”   
“There’s a card coming with your name on it. The due date is the twentieth, if you put anything on it.” I want to ask him what he’s doing when the blanket is pulled from my lap. His arms move around my torso. He uses his own bodyweight to push me down onto my back.   
Michael’s body now resides between my legs on our couch. Our. Odd. He’s holding himself up, staring down at my face.   
“Is there anything else you think you need to know to do this on your own?” An eyebrow quirks. With sly hands, I pull his glasses from his face. I drop them to the floor before speaking.  
“If I have any questions, I will not be afraid to ask, obviously.” When his body, his face, moves close to mine, I expect a kiss. The one I get isn’t where I expect it to be, however. Lips meet the sensitive skin of my neck and I sigh.   
“I hate how you are so alluring, even when you’re upset with me.” Normally, his whispered words spark the fire that resides in my gut for him. These words, this situation, makes my eyes roll.   
“You really know how to talk up a girl on her birthday, don’t you?”   
It’s a quarter past two in the afternoon. We are both barely dressed. Our bodies are oddly intertwined on our sofa.  
Our.  
Must get accustomed to that, it seems.   
I am fucked beyond repair.   
This is the part where I mention something about this being a decent birthday present but all I actually want to do is ache with the longing I already feel for this to keep happening.

“Give me a piece of the bloody cake already, fuck it.”  
“You said you don’t like cream cheese icing!”  
“I was lying! The cake has my name on it, for Christ’s sake!”   
“Okay, calm down, cake diva.”  
“I really do not need that kind of negativity in my life right now, Geoff. You can take that elsewhere.”   
We did go to Casa Isle.   
Sitting at home just upset me more.  
The Isles, all of the Day family (including the parents!), and Rob came over.   
We all sit around in the living room, everyone having individual conversations around each other. I sit quietly from my usual spot on the floor next to the couch, watching everyone talk.   
Michael has to keep pushing up his glasses as he talks. His hair has gotten so much longer in these three months. I stare at his Adam’s Apple bobbing for a moment before he notices me staring at him. No one else seems to notice, though, which is nice.  
“What’s up?” My face settles into a small smile while I shrug.  
I feel so exhausted. The drain of the day has finally started hitting me.   
The Day parents got me a gift. Frank and Ezra did also. Milly excitedly shoved something at me too.   
A jewelry box from the parents, a small collection of 80s movies picked out by Milly and Geoff, and a gift card to a local home decor store. Ezra and I share a look when I open their card. She knows that the bareness of our apartment kills me inside. Rob, being the best of all of them, gave me a hug. I needed it more than I thought I did. It took everything in me not to cry right then and there.  
Everyone said their byes at the same time, which was nice.   
The car ride home was relatively quiet.   
Michael gets our bags from the previous night out of the trunk of the car.   
I sit in his bedroom floor, organizing his clothes that he wants to take with him on tour.   
There is a wash pile, a leave pile, and a take pile.   
“Do you really not own any other cut of pants?” I fold the sixth pair of skinny jeans, placing them on top of the pile next to me. He sits crouched next to his suitcase on the other side of the room. His quiet scoff makes me smile.   
“Being tall and lanky doesn’t leave me much of an option.” His body begins to turn to face me.  
“Aw, come now. JNCOs are perfect for you.” He chuckles, moving towards me. I don’t notice the thing in his hands until he sits down crosslegged in front of me.   
“Here,” he says quietly, extending a hand in my direction. It’s a smallish, brown box. Nothing flashy or overly expensive looking. I don’t make eye contact with him before opening it.   
Inside is a small package of my favorite black tea and a small package of his favorite coffee blend.  
“There’s something underneath too.” I still don’t look up at him, afraid of possibly crying yet again. I move the small packages to find an envelope. My full name is written across the front in Michael’s recognizable chicken scratch. Fingers make quick work of the flap on the back of the envelope. It was once a blank piece of eggshell coloured cardstock. Someone drew all over the front of it, making “Happy Birthday” look very beautifully drawn. Could be Geoff? The inside of the card has Michael’s chicken scratch.

  
“Dearest,  
For you to have come into my life when you did, it was unexpected.  
You and I have developed a bond that, to me, feels so unshakable.  
I still don’t understand how it happened so quickly but I don’t think I’ll ever question it.   
Thank you for letting me in, literally and figuratively.   
Thank you for allowing me to be myself and to do so comfortably.   
Thank you for not holding back when it comes to yourself, to me, or to our friends family.   
You are so strong, beautiful, independent, intelligent, funny, and clever.  
Mom was right, I didn’t stand a chance.  
I think that even if you hated me, I’d still love you just the same.   
I’m happy you exist.  
Happy birthday, Estelle.  
Because I wasn’t sure what to get you until late last night, I managed to throw   
this idea together for you.   
I offer you an all expenses paid trip to somewhere in Europe during our long European run.   
It doesn’t matter where or when. You tell me and you’re there, babe.  
I love you more than words can say.  
I am excited for what the future holds for us.   
\- **M. T. Day.** "

"I know it isn't much," he starts as I lean forward, my arms wrapping around his neck.   
"It's perfect."  
"Yeah?" I smile against his ear.  
"Yeah, mate." His scoff is quiet but it makes me laugh all the same.

We're standing just out of the way near the entrance of the airport. The air is cooler than I expected today. I wore a dress for the occasion but it's a wasted effort because I had to cover up with a jacket.  
I didn't sleep. There was no lack of trying. I just couldn't.   
I haven't slept in two days.   
Makeup hides everything, luv.   
Everyone else has already said their byes and are settled into the wait for the gate call.   
Michael, sweet patient Michael, with his silly glasses and awkward expressions stands as close to me as he can. He didn't sleep last night either.   
He smells like sandalwood and me.   
My heart breaks more.   
"Beth wants me back in the office on Monday." His hand squeezes mine. We stand silently for another minute. There's a tension that settles.   
"I'll be back."   
"I know. It's not like you're being shipped out to fight for queen and country. I need to grow up," I mumble as sniffles find their way out of my nose. He scoffs, his hand rubbing my back. For a moment, I feel okay while I stare at his face. His hair has grown so much. He's even talked about dying it. The bags under his eyes look strangely like all of my emotional baggage just resting on his face.   
"What?" When he speaks, the din of the airport roars into my ears; I had blocked it out.   
"I'm sorry." His eyes wrinkle up ever so slightly like he wants to ask why but he doesn't.   
"No, I'm sorry," his inflection makes me smile as much as I can. "I gotta head that way."   
"I know."   
"I'll text you."   
"I know."   
The kiss I receive is tame enough for an airport audience but the fire behind it settles me a little.   
"You be good. Redecorate the house for me, yeah?"   
"You better bloody believe it."   
"Ta." His mocking tone makes me smack him on the arm. We stand there awkwardly for a moment, his hand clutching mine.   
"Go already." We sigh in unison. "I love you."   
"I love you." I am squeezed beyond belief. We pull away. My eyes lock with his. They're bloodshot. "See you later?" I nod, my arms moving to wrap around my body.   
"Seeyas, mate." He smiles, turning from me. As quickly as I can, I run out of the building.   
The mess that is out front gets me flustered but I manage to get a cab quickly enough.   
I go to Ezra's. I don't leave for two days.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few ideas running after this one. we'll see if they ever come to life.

"You have to go to their album release party."  
"Is it mandatory?"  
"Technically, no, but trickle down says yes." I sigh. She gives me a sympathetic look. "I know you're barely able to be here, dramatics, but it's better for you to get the hell out of that depression pit you call a home."  
In the last week since I've returned to the office, Beth and I have had several lengthy conversations. She shared with me that her husband was living in Europe for work. Sales or something.  
"Sam wants you there." Her tone makes my eyebrows raise. "He hasn't stopped raving about your cover art."  
"I haven't seen him for weeks."  
"Must have made an impression."  
"By insulting him?" She laughs. I sigh again. "When is it?" I flip my planner open. I bought one to help with the anxiety with...the loss. Loss? With separation anxiety.  
"Thursday."  
"Thursday? Who has a party on a Thursday?"  
"Idiots."

It gave me two days to prepare myself for a large group of people. I picked out a dress. Something modest for spring.  
Ezra gave a pass on going with me.  
Milly gave me a squeal when I asked so I take that as a yes.  
Work feels like a mundane waste lately. Generic pictures of the artists with filters and basic fonts.  
I eat sandwiches mostly.  
Michael calls when he can. He sounds excited for his adventure. He's gotten into the swing of things.  
I cry when we hang up.  
I fall asleep on the couch every night.

Milly stares at me while I perfect my winged liner. Her bare face surprised me when she stood on the other side of my front door. We both have dressed modestly. Black dresses with long sleeves. Her dress is shorter than mine which is usually not the case. Maybe I'm dressing for mourning. Maybe her bubbling stomach is causing shrinkage.  
I'm glad she's as normal and plain as could be when Geoff is gone. Her brown hair has grown out enough (from the shaved side) to settle into a pixie cut. There's an odd glow about her, though. Makes me sick almost.  
"You have such a steady hand." I can't help but scoff. This is the most unsteady I've felt in my life.  
"Years of practice, luv." Once I shove my makeup back into my makeup sack, Milly and I move downstairs to put on our shoes. Modest black flats for me, silly blue stilettos for her. Only slightly ordinary and plain, then.  
I make sure to proudly display my pendant in the middle of my chest. I also make damn sure to have my ring on full display.  
I believe it's my subconscious intention to look unapproachable. My brain forces me into an odd, black 'leave me alone' cloud.  
I feel her eyes on me while I adjust myself.  
"If you want to leave, just let me know. I'll leave whenever."  
"You'll know some of these people, I think. Don't let my mood ruin your socialization."  
"Stella, do you think I'm not feeling like you?" Her body bumps into my side as she tries to hug me. I barely give her the pleasure. She drives us to the venue. Luckily, it's in town.  
The lights and crowd immediately make my heart race. My palms feel slick enough to make me drop anything I decide to hold in the immediate future. I run into several familiar faces. I give my best fake smile, nod, and greeting.  
I predict that I'll say 'mate' more tonight than I have in months.

Mingling is awkward and uncomfortable. I can't believe that Oliver does this professionally. Milly's awkward laugh bumps me out of my daydreaming.  
"You know, your show was the only one I've been to where someone tried to bumrush the stage." The band that this party is for, well two of the three members, stand with us. A few others from the studio stand around too. It's a group of about ten or so standing in a circle.  
Uni follows me everywhere. I suppose people don't change. Circles are always in at parties. I feel as though I should start chanting.  
"We pride ourselves on the intensity of our shows." Sam, the guy who has been following me around practically all night, the lead singer for this band, and the guy who only wants to come across like he's impressive, says while casually sipping on his cocktail. Probably terrible whisky.  
"I bet! Geoff says the same thing but he just wants people to have a good time. A show is only partially about the music. It's the," her hands go up in a big expression, "experience! You gotta pride yourself on the event!" You'd think she's a bloody concert professor. I try my best to not roll my eyes.  
Sam notices me sigh.  
"What about you, Estelle? Any wild shows?" My shrug is quite nonchalant.  
"Not really my scene, mate." Internal groans are hard to hide from your facial expressions. "I was into house parties and drinking alone." My free left hand fidgets with my ring while my right brings my water to my lips. He smirks. It makes me fight the urge to smack him.  
"What are you into now?" When his dark, caterpillar eyebrows raise at me suggestively, my fists clench.  
"Oh, did I say was? Meant am, sorry mate." I stop myself from grabbing Milly and yanking her away. "Gonna go find Beth, seeyas." I nod at his confused face. Millicent, thankfully, follows my lead. When we're a safe distance away, my mouth releases the breath I didn't realize I was holding in.  
"He's going to find us again, you know that." My hand waves her words away.  
"Not if we leave before he can find us again." She chuckles at me.  
After a few minutes of searching and avoiding, we find Beth. Her hair is up in it's usual tight style. Her dress is elegant and sophisticated. Reasonable shoes and that signature red lip. She's like an older, American version of me. Except less cynical.  
"This is a check in. I talked, I was social, I have proof." Beth laughs, eyeing Milly and myself with an easy expression. "Beth, boss, Millicent, future sister in law." They nod at each other.  
"Oh, Geoff Day's wife?" She nods, beaming. "He's a great guy, very talented."  
"Thank you!" Their shared smiles are awkward.  
"We're leaving."  
"Before they even play?" I give her a curt nod.  
"I heard this album far too many times while designing. Not my cuppa." She scoffs. "Tell the higher ups I was here, yeah?" Her sigh was followed by a nod.  
"See you in the morning."  
Milly and I begin the trudge through the nearly intoxicated crowd.  
"Oh shit, I have to pee." With my low groan, we move toward the bathrooms. The line to the ladies loo is ridiculous. It moves quickly enough, though, so I stay out of the way to keep the process going quickly. My body settles into a back corner of the small, dark corridor where the queue starts.  
As I watch Milly enter the bathroom finally, I pull my phone from my bra.  
I miss you.  
It's probably not the best time to text Michael but I might as well.  
"These lines are garbage, huh? Oh sorry, rubbish." His voice, his awkward laugh, makes me tense up. My eyes barely want to look up. Unintentionally, my body turns defensive, arms crossed over my chest. I hope there's a scowl sitting on my face. Not able to focus on being intimidating at the moment.  
Sam stands in front of me, making me feel quite cornered. Manicured long nails dig into my palms. My phone could be crushed.  
"Good thing I'm not waiting for the toilet."  
"Your friend?" I give the smallest of nods.  
"Don't you play soon?" He shrugs, his face settling into an odd expression.  
"They don't need me to set up instruments." My body can only offer the slightest of chuckles. "So, Manchester?" While trying to keep my emotions in check, my facial expressions betray. My eyes couldn't help but widen. "You sound northern, that's why I ask." It shifts, my feelings, from fear to anger.  
"You know a lot about England, then?" He laughs, shrugging. I see a red glow on his cheeks, even in this darkened corridor. A grimace settles on my mouth.  
"Call me an Anglophile!" His tone, his posture, his bloody face make me very irrationally angry. I'm already irritable so maybe it's not all his fault when I grab him as hard as I can by the knob.  
"Then keep it to your bloody self then, ya fackin' twat." My words are harshly whispered directly into his face. I hope I spit on him.  
He looks absolutely stunned. Maybe a little pain is mixed in there too.  
"Stella?" With a good twist, I push him and his groin away from me. Milly stands to the side, staring at us. Her eyes settle on his frozen face.  
"Ready?" I ask her, my tone far more chipper than the rest of the evening. She has to pull her eyes away from him to make eye contact with me. Her eyebrows raise but she doesn't question anything.  
"If you are."  
"Always, luv."

"By the dick?"  
"Yeah, it was the only thing I could think of to do the most immediate damage."  
"You could have pushed him away."  
"I was scared, Michael. It was a crowd. I didn't want him harassing me anymore."  
"But by the dick?" My eyes roll.  
"You didn't feel how I felt. I was cornered. He had been bothering me all night, ask Milly. I shouldn't have to justify defending myself to you, of all people. For fucks sake." I don't realize I'm almost yelling by the time I'm done speaking.  
"Sorry," he mumbles. I feel a pang of guilt but fight it off. I don't need to apologize for yelling at him.  
"I'm gonna head to bed. Have a good show tomorrow." We usually talk for at least ten more minutes but I'm too mad at him to force my way through it.  
"I love you," he says quietly. I almost...almost hang up on him.  
"I love you." All of my effort went into it not sounding bitchy.  
"Until tomorrow?" It's our bye because we're too anxious for goodbyes.  
"Until then."  
I sleep in my own bed for the first time in weeks.

"Is there any way I could get several of these panels in a white silky fabric?"  
"How many you think, ma'am?" I try to quickly remember the shoddy measurements I had taken a few hours ago.  
"Each window is between 60cm and 65cm. The panels are the same length, roughly. There are..." I have to stop myself from counting on my fingers how many windows are in our apartment. "As far as I can remember," the employee chuckles at my tone, "there are four windows. Four panels." He quickly scratches down my numbers.  
"Silky white? Like...a wedding gown?" I laugh but then realize that's exactly what I mean. My eyes quickly examine the sample in my fingers. It is a dense, deep blue fabric with a soft looking lighter blue lace overlay. It was too deep of a blue to match with the room I was wanting to create.  
“Dense but elegant.” He eyes me skeptically but nods. Once I'm done at one furniture store, I go to another. This store is more aimed for grans with expensive taste. My mother. She’ll never have grandchildren. For the best, really.  
Two white fur covered throw pillows, small mirrored side tables, two shortish armed submerging colored chairs and a geometrically patterned gray rug. I’ll wait until Michael can see the room pieces before picking out shelving.

Since our fight, I dived head first in decor...and figuring out my career.  
The longer I sit in that office, the more I hate it. Beth even had some negative shite to say about how I handled the Sam situation.  
“You could have told one of us!”  
“It was a personal matter I thought I handled.”  
“He filed a complaint!” It took all of me not to scream at her.  
“I'm a victim of previous sexual assault.” Her expression, that was almost anger, fell into foot-in-mouth face. “I will not NOT defend myself. You and your complaint can right fuck off.”  
She didn't speak to me in person for two days.  
Michael apologized, too.  
“You did what you thought was right for the situation.”  
“Thank you.”  
“I'm sorry if I made you feel like you fucked up, or that I doubted you or your decisions.” I rolled my eyes at that. It was too trivial of a 'thing' at this point to even fuss over.  
“'Salright, mate.” I had said mate without even realizing it. He laughed at me.

A few days pass, my surprise visit to Manchester is scheduled for Monday. It's Friday as I finish up the last of my unfinished covers. I had asked Beth to come see me before five today. At 4:45, she sticks her head into my office. Things still tense between us, she speaks as curtly as possible.  
“You needed to see me?”  
“Yes, of course!” At this point, I'm moving all of my personal works in progress to a flash drive. “Please, sit.” She does so with, what seems like, the maximum amount of hesitation. The files finish transferring to the drive. I safely eject the object from the computer and slide the plastic piece into my pocket. “As you well know,” I begin, deleting my personal files as I speak, “This is my first real job in this field.”  
“Yes, of course, and you are exceeding expectations.” I have to hold in a scoff.  
“I'm quite glad to hear that. However, due to both recent life and work events, I am being made to think over and over again that this line of work isn't what I really want out of life.” This is the part of my speech that I hadn't yet memorized. “So, I am incredibly appreciative for the opportunity you have given me here, I am...” I blank for a moment. When I actually look at her, she looks pained. “I am afraid that I have to resign. Immediately.”  
“Immediately?! Your open projects!” She starts to stand in anger.  
“Completed.” She gafaws at me.  
“Check your email. All completed and approved by band members, went around you for some, sorry. All gathered notes from not yet started works are sent to Camilla.” Camilla is the girl they hired on to be my stand in for the week I was going to be gone. Welcome to a new job. “She's really great, Beth, much better at this than me.” She stands, stunned, staring at me. She slowly sits back down. I can tell she's trying to think of what to say next.  
“I knew something would happen...especially after yesterday.”  
I had prepared words about Sam, about Michael, even about Ezra, or my trip, but yesterday? Nothing happened yesterday. I worked silently, vacuumed when I got home, called Michael, paid bills.  
“Yesterday?” Her eyebrow raised.  
“Your father called me? Rich?” I hadn't heard his name in months.  
“What...What did he say?” My heart began to race. Buster, Gran...What if Oli's dead? I hadn't called him in days.  
“He said you were going to Manchester and to not expect you back any time soon, family business. I thought it might be a joke but he gave me his credentials.” She sits, staring for a moment. My confusion must register on my face. “It wasn't true?”  
“I am going to Manchester, you know that.”  
“That's why I believed him.” We sit in silence again.  
“I haven't talked to my father in months.”  
“Maybe...you should?”  
As I leave, box of my things in hand, Beth hugs me. She understood my reasons, wished me well, and asked for an invitation to our wedding.  
Ezra drives me home.  
“Dad called Beth.”  
“What?”  
“I don't know how he found out I worked there.”  
“Oli maybe?”  
“Probably.”  
She and I make plans to decorate this weekend as we pull up to our apartment. A sleek, black car sits in the driveway. My heart, which has been thumping for the past hour, shows no sign of slowing down.  
“What the fuck?” She mumbles as she pulls to the curb. The car looks empty through the back window.  
“Maybe it's for Milly. Maybe her mom drives something fancy.” I scoff at her.  
“American teacher salary couldn't afford this.” She makes a disapproving sound at me.  
“Want me to go with?” As much as I want to yell yes and cling to her, I can't. If this is parental home invasion, I have to appear strong. I shake my head at her, our eyes meeting. “Call me.” It wasn't a question. We share a small in-the-car hug and I fumble out onto my feet.  
As I walk past the car, I hear Ezra drive away. Empty car, good one for me. I can take a small breath finally. While I dig through my handbag for my keys, I fail to see the note posted to the front door.  
“Rowdy family visitor. I have them with me. Milly.”  
Rowdy? Why on god's green fucking Earth would that crazy pregnant woman invite a rowdy family member into her home alone. I think all of this while walking to her door and pounding on it. Now I'm the rowdy one. Jersey.  
“-Moment, sir, got another visitor!” Her chipper tone sounds strained. The door flies open and I see a very flustered and round faced Milicent Day.  
“Milly...” I mumble, “Why would you even think of letting a stranger into your apartment alone?”  
“He wouldn't stop banging on your door. He said he wait for you for hours. I told him to just come in here and be quiet. The neighbors.”  
“You are cr-”  
“Shh! Just come in, please!” I expected a suit, slicked back hair, and a gawdy expensive watch. I got a man who looked like he hadn't showered in days, a man who wore his pants too tight and his hair too long. I expected Rich. I got Oliver. His legs shook as he sipped at his mug.  
“Oli?” He jumped at my voice. The mug had barely had a chance to land on the table by the time he was moving to me. His B.O. Hit me before his arms did.  
'Stella, we have to go now.”  
“What?” He pulls away from his fast hug to stare at my face.  
“We have to go. Now. “  
“Because...?”  
“Because mum is in the hospital.” He expected me to drop everything and run out with him. He expected tears and gasps. He received a raised eyebrow.  
“For what?”  
“Why does that matter?! It's your fackin' mum and she's having surgery!”  
“It shouldn't matter but she, as you well know, is a massive cunt to both of us, so my heart isn't breaking for her at the moment.” I hear Milly sigh beside me.  
“Oh, what? Are you going to guilt me too?” She smirks, her face still solemn.  
“I know what she's done to you, how you grew up, but I know also that I miss my dad every single day.” Her father died in the twin towers. Her whole family fell apart that September day. “I would give anything to talk to him again, to make wrongs right...to hug him.” She sniffed quietly. I make myself stare hard at her.  
“What's wrong with her, Oli?”  
“Brain tumor, prolly cancerous.” I groan, rolling my shoulders; the tension in my body making me ache.  
“Bloody hell. Fuck. Fine. God fucking...” My hands run through my hair. “A flight is going to be hell to catch.” My mind goes to the plane tickets I purchases for two days from now. “Can she wait a few days?” I try but immediately feel like an asshole. They both roll their eyes at me.  
“Dad's at the jet, we need to go.”  
“What?!”  
“I'll explain on the way, go!”  
I run to our apartment and grab my suitcases from my bedroom Due to anxiety, I packed days ago. Oli follows me around like a puppy.  
“God, you've always taken ages. Come on, sis!”  
“Oi, fuck you mate, come off it!” He runs my suitcases down stairs, I quickly throw my pre-packed toiletries into my handbag.  
Milicent gets a stern look.  
“Call Ezra if you need anything.” She nods.  
I had forgotten that Oliver can drive in America.  
I had also forgotten that he's terrible at it.  
“What a fuckin' rock he laid on you, Stella.” I glance at him eyeing my hand. I roll my eyes, covering my left hand with my right.  
“So what?”  
'Did he already know you loved Tiffany's or was that a guess?” I gafaw at him.  
“How do YOU know where it's from?!”  
“It's my job to recognize nice things.”  
“It's my job to call you a prat.” He chuckles.  
“Like the old times, then.”  
“Quite right.”  
The Newark airport is hectic but we manage to get through it. Oli gets us to the tarmac, to my surprise, and parks the car near the smallish private jet.  
“How much did this cost?” I mumble, fumbling out of the car. Oli pops the trunk of the car and gets out himself.  
“I don't want to know.” My want was the help Oliver with my things. However, I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of my father. He looks ragged. Civilian clothes, as I call them (non-suit clothes usually), in slacks and a button down. His sleeves are pushed up, collar opened, and he's smoking. I am suddenly reminded of my smoking habit. His hand extends his half smoked pack of menthol's out to me once I reach him. He lights it for me and we stand in surprisingly comfortable silence for a moment. His wrinkles are more pronounced than I remember. Deep frown lines and crow's feet. His usually neat hair is a product free mess on the top of his head with slight gray throughout the mousy brown.  
“I get why you like these so much now.” His accent, even though he's lived in the UK for years how, is still very thick with New Jersey.  
“Bad for ya, though.” He laughs a small laugh, smoke pouring from his mouth. “Tumor?” He nods. “Why did you call the studio?”  
“My name goes places. I can get you hired back on if you have a valid reason for leaving, which this is.”  
“I put my resignation in anyway?” Our pilot came up then, telling us it's time to head out.  
We find our seats, a four-top wit ha fold away table in the middle. Oli and I next to each other, facing our father.  
“You thought I wouldn't talk to you alone?”  
“I knew you wouldn't, especially about your mom.” I scoff. “See, exactly that. You won't let us explain.”  
“Why should I? So you feel forgiven and I forget 20 plus years of bullshit? I'm sorry, no. While this move is the best thing that could have happened to me,” He glances at my ring, I sigh,” it still doesn't justify how you both handled it. I'm not a business deal. I'm your daughter.”  
“We knew you were miserable. Your mom especially. We aren't deaf, dumb and blind. I might be a little but your mom definitely isn't.” My sigh makes him sigh.  
“She found you, when you overdosed. Both times.” My face flattens.  
“What?!” Oli says, dumbfounded.  
“Buster did.”  
“She told you that.”  
“I saw him.”  
“You saw him cleaning you and the house up. She found you and called emergency services.”  
“You overdosed...twice?”  
“Suicide attempts,” he gasps,” you were in college.”  
“And no one thought to tell me?”  
“No, I'm not one to air my dirty laundry. You would have found out if the desired result had occurred.” His open mouth quickly shuts. “So she found me. Was she expecting it to happen?”  
“We saw your room at Jemma's, we heard you. As much as we wanted to change how things happened, we couldn't. Jemma was never stable enough for you to live there alone. Your mom doesn't trust her to buy food and be present.”  
“Because she herself is the prime example of present and aware parent.”  
“Providing and present-ness are her strengths and weaknesses.” My father and I stare at each other.  
“What did you OD on?”  
“Jameson and half a bottle of Buster's pain killers...Then a ton of Ativan and ibuprofen 800s.” Oliver frowns at me. My face feels blank. “It was years ago. Don't fret now, luv.” He scoffs at me. “Did she already have the surgery?”  
“Waiting until we get there. She demanded they wait.”  
“What if I refused to come?” Father shrugs.  
“Didn't get that far.” The cabin fell silent for a while.  
“You said you resigned earlier?” Dad asks over his newspaper he had picked up at some point in the flight.  
“Yeah...A band member harassed me at a party. I had designed their cover art. He was far too friendly, so I told him off for it,” I neglect to mention the grab, “He filed a complaint, so I just left...Today, actually.” It just hit me that this was all the same day. Home at 5, on the plane by 7, to right now, 10:00 P.M. Eastern. Four hours or so left on the flight. “How...How did you know I worked there?” He folded his paper back up and placed it on the table with a small sigh. Oli moves next to me, very asleep and still very smelly.  
“Because of my close work with production budgets, I have some choice friends. John Dunkleman is head of sales for a company we work with often.” Dunkleman? How do I know that name? Sales. Beth. Beth's husband knows my father, of course.  
“Did she know you already? Before she hired me?” He eyes me, choosing his words.  
“Yes, but,” I try not to scream, “She didn't know who you were until after I paid a visit to the city, we had brunch. She mentioned a new hire with James as a last name. When I found out you had started a career in your field, I was thrilled, so was your mother. We wanted the house to be your future, something to focus on, but now you had a new job, a career!” I can't help but smirk.  
“Spent most of my time designing wedding invitations.” He stares at my hands now, which sit limply on my lap.  
“Were you going to tell us?”  
“Eventually. Oli only knew we were dating.” He stands, reaching for my hand which I offer with slight hesitation.  
“Did you pick it out?” I shake my head.  
“He surprised me with it.” His eyes sparkle over it for a few seconds more before moving back to his seat. The paper finds its way back into his hands.  
“I picked out the same one from the same place for your mother.”  
I should have known.


End file.
